Oh NHS Direct. How could you get any better?

So, since Sunday my left leg's been aching. No idea why. I haven't injured myself recently (that I know of.)

I'm sitting here debating making an appointment with my vile GP, or going to A&E. Instead I go for the middle ground and call NHS Direct. In the past, with other people, they've been quite helpful. I call, the phone rings and an extremely long message plays (about a minute) before the gatekeeper picks up. She asks me for the number I'm calling from, my name, my symptoms, my address. I tell her everything and it isn't that much information. The trouble with the bio speech is, she's doing it in such a round-a-bout way that it takes 5 minutes to get the info she's after.

In her eyes I'm worthy to speak to someone with a degree. As a result, I get passed to a nurse, a quite heavily accented fellow with the phone manners of a hammer. He asks me the same question and at this point (6 minutes in) I'm starting to get really annoyed. What the hell was the point of the first gatekeeper if I just have to answer all the same bullshit again? And it's not really like the latter one listens to the answers I give him anyway.

Him:'Is any part of your leg numb?'
Me: 'Yes. My calves and just under my ankle'
Him: 'Like you can't feel anything,'
Me:'that is the definition of numbness, yes.'
Him: 'And it's numb.'
Me:'I did just say that.'

Him: 'Can you walk?'
Me:'Yes, but it's painful.'
Him: 'So this isn't causing you any difficulty when walking?'
Me:'I think I just said it was.'
Him:'So it isn't.'
Me:'*sigh*'

So 10 minutes of the conversational equivalent of listening to Terry Wogan's BBC2 show, tells me I need to go to A&E. Why? I have no idea. His mysterious oracle matrix thingie is forbidden knowledge to lowly patients. People don't need to know what could be wrong with them. When I asked about possibilities the little fuck gave me a long lecture about how diagnosis works and refused to suggest anything.

What the hell? I'm not a hypochondriac and not likely to write up a will at the suggestion it might be the cancer. (Everything could be cancer.) I just like to be aware if my trip to the emergency room should take place before I make the decision to commute home on a crowded train. Knowing whether my hips or knees will crumble under me like hunks of Wendsleydale is kind of important to me. As a result, you'd think it would be important to NHS Direct as well.

So, in an hour I'm off to A&E. No idea what could be causing my leg pain, only know that it's there, Wigan Infirmary charges a shitload for parking and I should probably grab a pack of smokes. Wish me luck.

N bomb on Big Brother. Emily Parr's an idiot.

Oh deary, deary me. One wonders how much acting work Emily Parr is going to get after this fiasco. According to transcripts at Holy Moly the Peaches Geldoff wannabe (gag) dropped the N Bomb quite a few times at the most vile Charley.

It was, allegedly, a stupid joke. Thankfully she's had her ass kicked off because Endemol can't afford to have themselves any race rows.

Cue tired racism and offensive word commentary tomorrow. Time to resurrect those columns folks. I swear to god I'm going to buy every red top and broadsheet tomorrow so I can compare what the personalities write now to what they'll write when it happens again. I'll bet it's copypasta.

Remind me again why I eventually want to get into journalism?