Well, that was easy.
I arrived in plenty of time, sat down, opened my book and was called through before I’d had time to read the first page.
Of course, they didn’t want me, they just wanted to move me to the next waiting area. This was crammed with men of a certain age, mostly with a slightly haunted air. This was due, I found out, to the next instruction.
“We’re going to do a flow test today, so I need to ask you to have five or six glasses of water.”
She pointed to the water fountain and left me to it. The slightly haunted air of my fellow drinkers was now explained. Take a man with a dodgy bladder, fill him with water, and it’s not exactly a recipe for comfort and jollity.
I was able to read plenty more of my book, though I wasn’t exactly able to concentrate as the water worked its way through.
Eventually, as I was beginning to feel a touch urgent, I was called through by the consultant.
All is good.
He turned out, despite his formidable qualifications and reputation, to be a warm and charming man with a sense of humour. This is not, as I have discovered over the years, always true of consultants.
He discharged me, told me to see the GP about the disturbed nights, thanked me for my patience and shook my hand.
I shook back then made off in search of a toilet. I may have avoided the flow test, but I still had six glasses of water to unload…