Drink

What is the price of happiness? If you should find yourself in Aberdeen on specially selected Sunday afternoons, the answer is three pounds. I think you would agree that this is very good value for money for something not only necessary and functional, but that will also make you tingle all over. Shall I tell you how I found this out? Weary and in urgent need of hot tea, I was driving home from a shift on call, when I happened to see a sign by the roadside. It read “Charity car washing at the fire station today’. Now I am a curious kind of girl, and frankly, the idea of an encounter with fireman that I could excuse as a charitable one, was, let me say, interesting.

One reading this sign my need for rest and nutrition, which had been overwhelming up until this point suddenly – and miraculously – disappeared. Moreover, although I am usually not the most confident of drivers, I suddenly felt as though right hand turns at roundabouts (my least favourite manoeuvre, but the fastest way to the fire station) were entirely within my capabilities. Would a sign advertising doctors doing car washing have had the same effect? I doubt it. All around me, cars were reversing off the road to get to the fire station quicker. On arrival there, you had to take your turn in a fairly lengthy queue. This mainly consisted of giggling teenage girls, three each to a –very clean- car, who were obviously not taking is charitable experience wholly seriously.

Did you ever see such enthusiasm for seeing any other professional? Never. Once admitted to the inner sanctum of the fire station itself, I was treated to a broad display of men in full fire fighting regalia wielding hoses and soap bubbles with aplomb. In addition, if you took time to look carefully, you would have noticed that there was one firewoman there too. I am sorry to say that her queue was shorter, but had her presence been advertised properly, I am sure this would not have been the case. The few males in the queue that I saw were obviously gay, and were not at all embarrassed to be there, unlike the blushing girls who were pretending that their cars really needed washing.

Except for me, of course. I was not pretending. My car really was muddy, and anyway, it only added a mile and a half to my journey, and I was only a bit late home.

Who am I kidding? It was just great. The sight of six fireman, wearing helmets and full uniform, rubbing soapy bubbles into my car was a deeply pleasant one. It was just like I imagine a long, hot soak in a Jacuzzi followed by a massage in a steamy room while drinking of champagne to be like, when your vision might be slightly cloudy and you feel all warm and hazy. Of course I don’t know for sure, because I have been in Aberdeen so long and Aberdeen doesn’t have those kind of things, but the cost – three pounds ! – would certainly make it cheaper than any other health farm option.

Was it in the interests of charity, was I overwhelmed or was it because I was being rather pathetic that I gave the man all the money I had in my purse at the time? On reflection what I should have done was go around the block and queue up several times, paying merely the standard charge for each turn.

There is no moral to this tale. It merely goes to show that firemen are eternally sexy, and that it is still possible to purchase cheap thrills. So why can’t doctors be such a draw to the general public? Admittedly, George Clooney did wonders for the image of medics, but that was only until he was written out of ER. In general, hospital doctors casually fling a stethoscope around their necks: along with grubby white coats, pockets bulging with chits, mouldy sweeties and an Oxford Handbook, this does come close to a uniform, but it does nothing for me. At this juncture I would like to point out that giving my husband, who works in hospital medicine, a fireman outfit, is not the answer. This was one solution suggested by a certain GP to whom I recounted this tale.But would a uniform help our image? Even though GPs out on calls may think they look the part, the acid test is whether or not traffic wardens believe that they are truly doctors on call, when they are discovered to be badly/doubly/illegally parked. After all, who would ever think of asking firemen for proof of identity? Currently, I seem to be failing in this regard. I have to admit I have no idea what a GP uniform would compromise, but I can think of several designers I would like to ask for advice. Never mind. My car is filthy, and I have places to go.