“Hello, ambulances!” said a friendly voice. “It’s Commontown Police here; we’ve got one for your attendance.”
“Jolly good,” I said. It’s always nice to talk to other services, like the police, fire brigade, buses and tube. They’re always so much friendlier than the general public. “Where are we off to?”
“West Common Road, near the church. We’ve just had a report from a man walking his dog who’s seen a man lying in the bushes — deceased, he thinks. He’s too scared to approach. We’re on way… are you?”
“WEST COMMON ROAD, SE29″ I typed. “MALE LYING IN BUSHES, POSSIBLY DECEASED.” By the time I’d flicked through the triage questions, an ambulance and a FRU were on way, and I told the police so.
The FRU in question just happened to belong to one Mr Steve Gibbs. Spotting this, I was tempted to write “MORNING STEVE!!!” in the special instructions, but I don’t think it would have gone down too well with my boss. Instead, I made a small but significant alteration to the diagnosis:
MALE LYING IN BUSHES, POSSIBLY DECEASED
now read:
MALE LYING IN BUSHES, POSSIBLY DEAD
Steve knows that I’m the only person in Nee Naw Control who ever dares say the word “dead”…
Sure enough, half an hour later, my phone buzzed with the following message:
“Are you working today? Just took a call about a corpse in some bushes. Sounded like your style…”