Post by lemonpig on Feb 24, 2009 1:46:12 GMT 1
This is my first fanfic. ;D
My choice of characters might look strange at first, but you'll quickly understand.
A big thank you and a kiss go to Bella for editing and helping with the title.
I hope that you'll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it ! ;D
It was a wonderful summer morning in Letherbridge. Heavy rain and strong winds always did the trick. ‘Such is the charm of England’, George thought as she hungrily kissed Ronnie who hadn’t bothered to take his crash helmet off for the occasion. Prince Charming himself!
That afternoon it was George’s turn to be on house calls. Lucky her! With such rubbish weather, house calls could be so unpleasant…but she didn’t have any choice. After lunch, two consultations (both for gastro-enteritis), a cup of tea (not herbal), another two consultations (this time a leg ulcer and a cold sore), a cup of tea (not herbal either), a trip to St Phil’s to get some updates on a patient, and a cup of tea (still not herbal), George had to stop at an elderly patient’s who was suffering from a panic attack. The lady’s daughter had called the Mill for assistance and Vivien had had to volunteer George to go round. Of course ! ‘Why can’t the old witch say no to old people?’, George wondered angrily, while sighing heavily and rolling her eyes. Had it not rained so much then George would have gladly taken a walk to calm her nerves.
Annette, Mrs Dorchester‘s daughter, explained how the attack had started. The patient, sitting on the edge of the sofa and looking extremely pale, was now having difficulty breathing. George, feeling tense, ordered the daughter to dial 999 immediately. The next step appeared obvious to George. She asked for some hot water. Slightly taken aback, Annette complied and quickly returned with her mum’s kettle.
‘I need a small receptacle’, George said with some urgency in her voice.
The daughter hurried back into the kitchen to grab a mug.
‘Would that do?’
‘It’s lovely. Thank you.’
There was a loud gasping sound coming from the sofa.
‘Yes, we’ve heard you, Mrs Dorchester.’ George seemed a bit annoyed.
Why the old lady had a first aid kit at hand was a mystery. ‘Another hypochondriac’, George thought. Anyway… Quickly opening the kit, she took out a tea bag. Unfortunately, her patient did not have any herbal tea. George began to think that she was cursed. But in case of emergency, she was willing to make an exception.
‘How long will it be?”, the daughter asked.
‘Oh, just a minute. If you leave it too long, then you can’t get the taste right.’
‘I don’t care about your tea!’ the daughter screamed. ‘I meant the ambulance!’
‘Oh! Right. Of course, you did. They should be here soon. It’s an emergency after all, innit?’
‘Of course, it is! My mother’s life is at stake!’
Three hours, twelve minutes and fifty-nine seconds exactly later, George heard the siren of an ambulance in the distance. It was dark outside by now. George got closer to the window, cradling in her hands yet another cup of non-herbal tea. She could see the blue lights approaching.
‘Oh, you’ve got to see that’, she sounded excited.
Annette, in quite a state about her mother’s health, joined George and looked outside.
‘Look at that. Isn’t it lovely? The blue lights and headlights in a cold and foggy July night? What a magical sight!’ commented George. ‘Ambulances have always been my favourite emergency vehicles, you know. I wanted to drive one when I was a child. I almost did. But I failed the test. Apparently I’ve set a record of civilian casualties while dashing to the local hospital. Or so I was told.’
The young woman couldn’t believe her ears.
Another half hour later, being the time it took for the paramedics to get lost just a few streets away, and the ambulance parked in the Dorchesters’ driveway with a screeching sound doubled with a controlled gliding executed to perfection. Then the sound of someone falling down on the gravel, followed by ‘ouch’ and a series of coarse words. Emergency services had finally made it to the front door! Annette had already opened the door, anxious about her mother whose breathing had not improved. Another gasp.
‘Yes, Mrs Dorchester. The paramedics are already here’, George informed her patient. Turning to them, ‘Anything you can do?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
Somehow the reply triggered a series of gasps, louder than ever.
‘What do you mean?’, asked a livid Annette. ‘Is it so serious? Is my mother going to die?’
‘Eventually, yes. But I don’t think it’ll be today’, George replied. ‘To be on the safe side, I would like your mother to go to St Phil’s.’
‘No worries, we’ll take her’ said one paramedic.
‘Don’t you have a stretcher?’, Annette asked as she didn’t see either of them bring one in.
‘Sure, we do, mam. Chris over there has already started inflating it. He gets faster each time he has a go at it. Iron lungs, we call him.’
This did nothing to reassure the young Miss Dorchester: she was worried sick.
Iron lungs completed his task in 24’37, which was not a personal best, but close enough. Satisfied, he started loading Mrs Dorchester onto the bright pink inflatable stretcher. Annette went into the ambulance, leaving George quietly finishing her cup of tea before she decided to make a move. What a hectic afternoon it had been !
Later that evening, Ronnie was driving up his street. He had a lot on his mind. He kept thinking about George and her obsession to change his lifestyle completely. And why? Because he was the one who had suggested they had another child. What would his nutty wife have come up with today? Make him run around the garden naked to ‘improve his blood circulation’, as she would put it? Or should he spend hours in an uncomfortable upside-down position to shake a leg? Or maybe he’ll have to endure another aphrodisiac dish that George had been cooking recently. Her chocolate and ginger chicken was always a winner. Served with baby new potatoes of course. Ronnie hoped that George had drunk a lot of herbal tea today. It would calm her down. She was becoming irritating quite fast. Ronnie got off his bike and, taking his Smith & Wesson out of his rucksack, he killed the engine. ‘There! George will be happy now.’
The End.
My choice of characters might look strange at first, but you'll quickly understand.
A big thank you and a kiss go to Bella for editing and helping with the title.
I hope that you'll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it ! ;D
It was a wonderful summer morning in Letherbridge. Heavy rain and strong winds always did the trick. ‘Such is the charm of England’, George thought as she hungrily kissed Ronnie who hadn’t bothered to take his crash helmet off for the occasion. Prince Charming himself!
That afternoon it was George’s turn to be on house calls. Lucky her! With such rubbish weather, house calls could be so unpleasant…but she didn’t have any choice. After lunch, two consultations (both for gastro-enteritis), a cup of tea (not herbal), another two consultations (this time a leg ulcer and a cold sore), a cup of tea (not herbal either), a trip to St Phil’s to get some updates on a patient, and a cup of tea (still not herbal), George had to stop at an elderly patient’s who was suffering from a panic attack. The lady’s daughter had called the Mill for assistance and Vivien had had to volunteer George to go round. Of course ! ‘Why can’t the old witch say no to old people?’, George wondered angrily, while sighing heavily and rolling her eyes. Had it not rained so much then George would have gladly taken a walk to calm her nerves.
Annette, Mrs Dorchester‘s daughter, explained how the attack had started. The patient, sitting on the edge of the sofa and looking extremely pale, was now having difficulty breathing. George, feeling tense, ordered the daughter to dial 999 immediately. The next step appeared obvious to George. She asked for some hot water. Slightly taken aback, Annette complied and quickly returned with her mum’s kettle.
‘I need a small receptacle’, George said with some urgency in her voice.
The daughter hurried back into the kitchen to grab a mug.
‘Would that do?’
‘It’s lovely. Thank you.’
There was a loud gasping sound coming from the sofa.
‘Yes, we’ve heard you, Mrs Dorchester.’ George seemed a bit annoyed.
Why the old lady had a first aid kit at hand was a mystery. ‘Another hypochondriac’, George thought. Anyway… Quickly opening the kit, she took out a tea bag. Unfortunately, her patient did not have any herbal tea. George began to think that she was cursed. But in case of emergency, she was willing to make an exception.
‘How long will it be?”, the daughter asked.
‘Oh, just a minute. If you leave it too long, then you can’t get the taste right.’
‘I don’t care about your tea!’ the daughter screamed. ‘I meant the ambulance!’
‘Oh! Right. Of course, you did. They should be here soon. It’s an emergency after all, innit?’
‘Of course, it is! My mother’s life is at stake!’
Three hours, twelve minutes and fifty-nine seconds exactly later, George heard the siren of an ambulance in the distance. It was dark outside by now. George got closer to the window, cradling in her hands yet another cup of non-herbal tea. She could see the blue lights approaching.
‘Oh, you’ve got to see that’, she sounded excited.
Annette, in quite a state about her mother’s health, joined George and looked outside.
‘Look at that. Isn’t it lovely? The blue lights and headlights in a cold and foggy July night? What a magical sight!’ commented George. ‘Ambulances have always been my favourite emergency vehicles, you know. I wanted to drive one when I was a child. I almost did. But I failed the test. Apparently I’ve set a record of civilian casualties while dashing to the local hospital. Or so I was told.’
The young woman couldn’t believe her ears.
Another half hour later, being the time it took for the paramedics to get lost just a few streets away, and the ambulance parked in the Dorchesters’ driveway with a screeching sound doubled with a controlled gliding executed to perfection. Then the sound of someone falling down on the gravel, followed by ‘ouch’ and a series of coarse words. Emergency services had finally made it to the front door! Annette had already opened the door, anxious about her mother whose breathing had not improved. Another gasp.
‘Yes, Mrs Dorchester. The paramedics are already here’, George informed her patient. Turning to them, ‘Anything you can do?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
Somehow the reply triggered a series of gasps, louder than ever.
‘What do you mean?’, asked a livid Annette. ‘Is it so serious? Is my mother going to die?’
‘Eventually, yes. But I don’t think it’ll be today’, George replied. ‘To be on the safe side, I would like your mother to go to St Phil’s.’
‘No worries, we’ll take her’ said one paramedic.
‘Don’t you have a stretcher?’, Annette asked as she didn’t see either of them bring one in.
‘Sure, we do, mam. Chris over there has already started inflating it. He gets faster each time he has a go at it. Iron lungs, we call him.’
This did nothing to reassure the young Miss Dorchester: she was worried sick.
Iron lungs completed his task in 24’37, which was not a personal best, but close enough. Satisfied, he started loading Mrs Dorchester onto the bright pink inflatable stretcher. Annette went into the ambulance, leaving George quietly finishing her cup of tea before she decided to make a move. What a hectic afternoon it had been !
Later that evening, Ronnie was driving up his street. He had a lot on his mind. He kept thinking about George and her obsession to change his lifestyle completely. And why? Because he was the one who had suggested they had another child. What would his nutty wife have come up with today? Make him run around the garden naked to ‘improve his blood circulation’, as she would put it? Or should he spend hours in an uncomfortable upside-down position to shake a leg? Or maybe he’ll have to endure another aphrodisiac dish that George had been cooking recently. Her chocolate and ginger chicken was always a winner. Served with baby new potatoes of course. Ronnie hoped that George had drunk a lot of herbal tea today. It would calm her down. She was becoming irritating quite fast. Ronnie got off his bike and, taking his Smith & Wesson out of his rucksack, he killed the engine. ‘There! George will be happy now.’
The End.