"How lucky you are to be a doctor…" Anyone who's a doctor is right out of luck,  I thought.
Anyone_who's_studying_medicine_should_have_his_head_examined.
     You may think I want to change my job. Well,  at the moment I do. As one of my friends says-even
doctors have a few friends-it's all experience. Experience! I don't need such experience. I need a
warm, comfortable and undisturbed bed all my own. I need it badly. I need all telephones to be thrown
down the nearest well. That's what I need.
     All these thoughts fly round my head as I drive my Mini(微型汽车) through the foggy streets of
East London at 3:45 am on a December morning. I am a ministering angel in a Mini with a heavy coat
and a bag of medicines. As I speed down Lea Bridge in the dark at this horrible morning hour, the heater
first blowing hot then cold, my back aching from the car seat, I do not feel like a ministering angel. I
wish I were on the beach in southern France. Call me a bad doctor if you like. Call me what you will.
But don't call me at half past three on a December morning for an earache that you have had for two
weeks.
     Of course,  being a doctor isn't really all bad. We_do_have_our_moments. Once in a while people
are ill, once in a while you can help, once in a while you are given a cup of tea and rockhard cake at
two o'clock in the morning-then you worry if you have done everything. But all too often "everything" is
a repetitious rule: look,  listen, feel, tap, pills, injection,  phone, ambulance and away to the next.
     And then there is always the cool, warm voice of the girl on the switchboard of the emergency bed
service who will get your patient into hospital for you-the pleasant voice that comes to you as you stand
in the cold, dark, smelly and dirty telephone box somewhere in a dangerous section of town. Oh,  it has
its moments, and this life does.