The plan was perfect – we'd just taken a drunk to hospital and the patient (a 45 year old man, married, father of two) had decided to urinate in the back of our ambulance. Both my crewmate and I were happy at this, as we would have to return to our station to 'mop out', and on the way my crewmate could grab a chicken takeaway meal.
And I could get a cup of tea.
This apparently flawless plan was spoilt when we stopped for the food and a man came running out of a pub to tell me that a friend had “a f**k'in' big gash in his head”, where he had fell over.
So I dutifully entered the pub, to find a fifty year old man with a cut down to the skull running from his hairline to his eyebrow. Most impressive.
Less impressive was his friend telling me that the patient had taken some 'speed' earlier.
I don't know about you, but I consider myself too old to be taking that stuff, let alone someone old enough to be my father.
Not that I've even taken speed myself. I like my braincells exactly how they are thankyewverymuch
Luckily another ambulance turned up and took the patient off our hands, and so we have returned to the station where I have just mopped out the back of the motor, and am typing this while waiting for it to dry out.
I just wish I could be a fly on the wall when our orignal drunken patient tries to explain to his wife exactly why he has pissed his trousers.
I'm preparing a post on our new pay – but it's taking a while for me to take all the swearing out of it…