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Writer's pictureG R Matthews

I am a fugitive from the NHS

Let me explain.


Actually, lets start with the beginning of the day and in true chronological order take you through the events that led to my fugitive status and the reason I am currently hiding behind a computer screen, typing my last testament before being dragged away by the literal men in white coats.


This morning is ParkRun day, or Saturday to any right thinking, normal people, and we've been indulging in a little ParkRun Tourism around Kent for the past few weeks. Today's lucky victim, I mean location, was Orpington.


I jogged around to Steve's house (80m or so, calling that a warm up) and was driven in luxury, with good conversation an added bonus to the site of the run. We arrived early and waited for the others to appear which they duly did before setting off for the start line. We gathered and waited near the start line for the the Marshall to give the briefing and route... which I totally listened to, all of it, honest - I would just be in the middle of the pack anyway, so I figured I'd follow everyone else. One word did stick with me; hill.


There were hills on this course.


Great.


With tree roots to be careful of too. Flashbacks to the mountain at the back of Dartford Park ParkRun struck me (its not hilly, Chloe had said) with the hammer blows of imagination and memory.


Even so, being brave in front of my running friends, I smiled, nodded and held my bowels together.


Lining up at the start, watch ready to record the run, music in my ears (adverts played so I had thirty minutes of uninterrupted listening (if an advert played I had gone far too slow for me)), and the starting pistol echoed - OK, a Marshall shouted, "3, 2, 1, go!"


And go we did.

Mostly grass and mud, with the occasional little track of mud, all marked with those little cones and me following everyone else ahead of me. After a Km there was lovely down hill section which I leaned into enjoying the freedom to run, the flex of muscles, the fresh air in my lungs, it was blessed... and then the hill.



For the next 1.5km a constant, but not steep climb but it was never ending. I live amongst hills, I run hills all the time but I never ever enjoy them. They slow you down, drain energy from your legs and lungs. At the top, you may be rewarded by a good view, usually in my village you also get the added bonus of seeing the next hill.


Yay!


Two laps and a time of 27.41 for the 5Km was good, I felt. A minute off my PB but that was to be expected and I was aiming today for a time between 27 and 28 minutes. I can think back to the dream of beating 30 minutes last year, and now my goal, at the right ParkRun, and when I am back to being a little fitter now the injury is gone, of being somewhere in the 25 minute range.


One photo later, in which I look like I need a wee, and were off for coffee and breakfast where a charming member of the wait staff took our order, delivered our food and coffee and took our cash. To be fair, the food was good and not expensive at all!


Now, onto the Fugitive bit you've waiting for.


Today, I had my COVID and Flu jab booked in. I count as vulnerable, apparently, because I had a TIA about ten years ago, and the little cancer scare earlier this year probably didn't help either (I'm fine. All clear. Don't worry).


So, home showered and back out in a rather fetching Mandalorian t-shirt (easy access to the arms) and off to the Pharmacy (this word is important) for the jabs.


SATNAV guiding me, I pulled up outside the Surgery and spied a helper with a lovely NHS lanyard on guiding folks in. I approached and asked, because I'd never been here before, if this was the right place for COVID and Flu jabs.


"Of course," was the response, "but its just Flu today. You'll need to book in COVID jab for next week."


"Are you sure? Because," I took out my phone and showed the message about FLU/COVID and location.


"Yep, that's here."


"oh... right," I shrugged and in I went following another guide who led me to ROOM 2.


I sat, was asked my Date of Birth and name which I duly gave while the other member of staff jabbed my left arm. No pain - I am a brave boy.


"Could you just give me your name and date of birth again. I can't find you on the system..."


I repeated, they typed and nothing came up.


"Are you patient here?"


"Me? No."


"Perhaps we shouldn't have jabbed you, but we can't get it out now..."


Vision of films where the hero sucks out the venom from a snakebite rose in my mind as I looked at my recently stabbed let arm.



"I was supposed to get Flu and COVID here," I said, lifting my phone and showing the message.


They exchanged glances. "That's the Pharmacy over the road. They're doing COVID and Flu today."


"Um..."


"Let me get the Practice Manager," was said and I stayed seating.


The manager arrived, I smiled, they looked at me, and at the members of staff. "Well, we can't take it out."


"I agree," I answered, thinking that cutting my arm off might be an option. "So what do we do?"


"Um... run," they said and smiled.


"Right," I nodded, stood, and walked out past everyone, feigning confidence and a sense of belonging.


At the pharmacy, I explained, they nodded, and jabbed my right arm, and drove home sure that the NHS equivalent of Tommy Lee Jones is saying:


"What I want from each and every one of you is a hard-target search of every gas station, residence, warehouse, farmhouse, henhouse, outhouse and doghouse in that area. Checkpoints go up at fifteen miles. Your fugitive's name is Mr G R Matthews. Go get him."



Listen. You didn't see me. I wasn't here. You don't know me.

Right.

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