I AM registered with the super whizz-bang, ultra-modern, brightly-decorated Salisbury Medical Practice.

Merged practices like this are the latest thing, don’t you know. Lots of services under one roof. More efficient.

I would like an appointment. Seems fair to me. That’s what they’re for.

I ring up first thing on Friday. I listen to a recorded message from one of the GPs: “If you have a life-threatening emergency, hang up and dial 999. Otherwise, please hold ….”

I wonder how many patients they have who are so stupid that they don’t realise that there is a 999 service. Or what’s left of one, anyway.

Then there’s a musical interlude by that nice Vivaldi.

I’m afraid we don’t have any routine appointments available, says the receptionist.

I’m not in a hurry, I say. Any time in the next week or two will do.

Sorry, says the receptionist. We don’t have any routine appointments available at all for next week or the week after. They are released in batches and there won’t be any more released until later today. No, we don’t know what time that will be. Try ringing back later this morning.

That’s a bit of a waste of my time and yours, isn’t it, I say politely. It’s not her fault. I know that.

We’ve got a trainee you could see at 4pm, she offers. He will be supervised by a qualified doctor.

No thanks, I say. I’m going away for the weekend. I’ll be gone by then.

It’s 10.45am when I ring back. I’d like to get this sorted before I leave.

Sorry, says a different receptionist after some more Vivaldi. We don’t have any routine appointments available at all. They are released in batches and there won’t be any more released until later today. No, we don’t know why it’s done like that, or what time it will be. Trying ringing back later this morning, or this afternoon.

OK, I say politely. It’s not his fault.

It’s lunchtime when I try again. I listen to Vivaldi for 5.75 minutes, till I put the unanswered phone down. I don’t think I will ever listen to Vivaldi for pleasure again.

Finally, from a campsite at 2.14pm, after yet more blasted Vivaldi, I manage to make an appointment, for the following Tuesday, at the practice’s Wilton outpost. To be continued …

So, it’s Tuesday now, and I see a very nice doctor at Wilton.

Within moments of leaving the surgery I receive a text message asking: “How likely are you to recommend Salisbury Medical Practice?”

I’m invited to respond by choosing a number from 1 (extremely likely) to 5 (extremely unlikely), or even 6 for don’t know. What would have to happen for someone to think “Duh, I dunno”?

I find this exercise even more pointlessly patronising than the voice message, so I press delete.

Next week: Let’s outsource all the jobs at the hospital to private companies, a few at a time so there’s not too much fuss, and then they can cut wages and pensions! Another cracking idea!

anneriddle36@gmail.com