I should have known that it was going to be a bad afternoon when I was told by the receptionist that I was late. I wasn’t late, of course. Being a man I had planned my afternoon so that I got to the doctor’s ten minutes early before my 5 o’clock appointment, but, it turned out, 16.50 was too late.
So, I trundled down the corridor like a naughty schoolboy on his way to the Headmaster. The nurse – sorry, ‘Nurse Practitioner’– standing at her door looking at me as though I had just snapped her favourite petri dish in half, bluntly spat “You’re late Mr. Batchelor.” Slipping into that horrendous mistake of acting all English I naturally apologised. But then, I added, “My appointment was at 5 and it is only 16.50…you’re lucky I was here, haha (politely laughing)”. Gail – for that was her name – just scowled.
I was at the doctor’s because, apparently, I needed an MRSA swab done before I go into hospital for an operation in a few weeks time. The hospital needed to know whether I had MRSA before I had my op, and if I did have this killer virus, my “operation could be delayed indefinitely.” I don’t mind popping into the doctor’s for something routine, but I do mind when it’s for something that’s a complete waste of time, and involves sour-faced Gail stuffing a cotton bud into my groin. I would know whether I had MRSA, so too would the NHS for they would be treating me; so what was the point?
After some very offhand and mandatory one-way conversations involving the weather, and “isn’t the surgery busy”, I posed the question of ‘what was the point of this MRSA swab?’ Gail glanced in my direction and offered me no explanation. I persisted: “I’ve recently had Bird Flu, will that affect the results?” I jokingly asked.
Readers will know that I have recently had a bad cold, and for the sake of sympathy, I have called it Bird Flu. Gail, however, did not realize I was joking and glared at me and said “Bird Flu is a disease that humans cannot catch. You really have no idea about medicine do you, Mr. Batchelor!” You will be surprised to learn that I did not retort back to her because the fact of the matter is that I know nothing about medicine. To me a pancreas and a spleen are one and the same thing, and I don’t know what a corpse’s dilated iris looks like. I would be no good in a first aid role, or as a surgeon. I most probably couldn’t even be a ‘Nurse Practitioner’.
And this brings neatly me onto the Perodua Kenari, which is, without doubt, the worse car on sale in Britain. ‘Perodua’, for instance, sounds like some virulent stomach disease that you’d talk to Gail or phone NHS Direct about: ““Hello, NHS Direct?…yes…hello there…umm…I think I might have Perodua.”
This, however, is the least of the Perodua’s problems, for the styling is catastrophically bad. Where do I start? Well, the Kenari is based on the fifteen year old Daihatsu Move which had all the style of one of my Bird Flu infected tissues, and possessed a striking resemblance to Postman Pat’s van. However, with the Kenari they’ve tried to make you forget this by sticking on a front grille poached from a 1984 Jaguar XJ6.
The handling of this car is, to put it politely, frightening. But please do not be under any misapprehensions that I have driven this car, for I know this because I had to endure a forty-five minute journey behind one yesterday. It was the GX model which, on any other car, means that is the mildly fruity version; this Kenari GX however had roof-bars and was finished in metallic gold, and made John Prescott seem athletic in comparison. With a 0-62 time of fifteen seconds, the Kenari would make you so late for an appointment with Gail; you would be leaving the surgery in a coffin.
As you can already guess, speed was not an issue for this driver as it was driven by the type of person who brakes every time something is coming in the opposite direction, and travels at 37mph everywhere – all of the time. On a country road that allows every other motorist to happily travel at 60mph, Kenari man is there doing 37 and braking hard. Even in a built-up area that necessitates a leisurely 30mph, Kenari man is there flying ignorantly along at 37. Try as he might, however, Kenari man cannot exceed 37 as not only can the 1.0 litre, 3-cylinder engine not manage much more, but 37mph is the fastest speed he can go before the car topples over. On several occasions I rounded a bend flat and civilized in my car, only to discover that the gold Kenari GX was leant over on its door handles.
Kenari man obviously had no idea when it came to choosing his new car, because if he wanted a mini-MPV he would have bought a used Vauxhall Agila or used the bus. Apart from me who was fuming at him, everyone else driving in the opposite direction was crying out in laughter at Kenari man. He had no interest in cars, and consequently he had no interest in driving. If you have no interest in something, you are therefore, by reasons of simple deduction, no good at it.
That’s why I will never become a nurse practitioner, a doctor, or even an eye surgeon.
Perodua Kenari GX 5dr
Top speed 98mph
Verdict Call NHS Direct if you want one
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