stella41b
Posts: 4258
Joined: 10/16/2007 From: SW London (UK) Status: offline
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I dunno, but to me it seems like in the UK things are becoming more and more like Poland during the former communist period. It's not just the long queues in the post offices, banks, supermarkets etc and no, it's not just the weather either (well, public transport doesn't descend into chaos when they see snow, they just turn the heating on full whack on everything and anything and people go out and shovel snow off roads and pavements) but it's other things too. Like whatever happened to the fruit juice drink Five Alive? Here in London you can't buy it for love or money, it's gone, disappeared. In some places you can still buy Um Bongo - and incidentally I know someone from the Congo who's never heard of it. But try and buy Five Alive, and you cannot. No, it's the Stalin-esque images of Conservative leader David Cameron on posters for the General Election advertising 'time for change'. Not sure if this is what the Tories really wanted, but Cameron's image on these posters is a fine example of Soviet poster art (he's even got that stuffed animal look of the former Soviet politicians) all air-brushed and sleek and bright eyes and smarm. Then there's my own experience from last night when I was diagnosed with having pneumonia in my right lung at the A and E Department of a London hospital, given some antibiotics and left to walk home through the snow, ice and subzero temperatures of London. Now this came about after being taken to hospital by ambulance early in the evening, and as I walked the twenty yards from the ambulance to the A and E it was deemed I was non-urgent and left to wait several hours in a queue to see a doctor. The doctor looked at my notes which said 'breathing difficulties', 'chest infection', 'completed course of antibiotics' and announced I might have a problem with my lungs, and that I needed to be seen as an emergency and that it needed to be checked out by another doctor. This took me back to 1994 when in Poland I tried to explain to a doctor in broken Polish that I had tripped over tram lines in the centre of a roundabout and twisted my ankle. This resulted in me being rushed at very high speed to hospital in an ambulance with blue lights and sirens blaring for my jeans to be cut and my leg fitted with a crotch to toe plaster cast and where I was given a pair of red plastic crutches. Whilst waiting I discovered that the doctor has misunderstood me and thought I had been caught up in a collision between two trams on a roundabout. I was then taken home, but the ambulance men returned the next day to take my crutches back as a man had broken his leg and they left me with a 'pirate' type of wooden crutch. I would write more, but I'm off in search of fresh supplies of lemon juice and vodka for my tea. Oh and some pickled cabbage.
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