IF David Cameron REALLY wants to wipe billions of wasted wonga off the nation’s books he might well kickstart his efficiency drive by giving the nation’s zimmer frames a wipedown with Dettol.
I’m serious! My pal Patsy’s mum-in-law had a fall recently, spent a couple of days in hospital (where together they watched a government information film encouraging recycling) and was then discharged with a smart, new zimmer to aid recovery.
A fortnight later, fully recovered, she tried to return the walking frame she no longer needed to the Essex hospital from which it was provided. “Nothing doing,” said the local NHS Trust. “It’s a matter of ’elf and safety, madam.”
Zimmer frames harbour unseen germs, they explained. “Never heard of bleach?” fumed Patsy’s mum. “Or Dettol and a J-cloth?” Still no takers.
So she tried recycling the zimmer via the local Red Cross.
“Sorry, love, but we’ve got a warehouse stuffed full of the wretched things,” said a volunteer, not unsympathetically. It’s a nationwide problem, apparently: Dorset’s Primary Care Trust, for example, finds it cheaper for patients to keep the equipment rather than collecting, cleaning and re-using it. “It also minimises the risk of cross-infection” said a spokesman.
So if you, too, are having trouble finding a use for that redundant granny-walker here’s Five Things You Could Do with an Unwanted Zimmer:
1. Grow runner beans up it.
2. Cover with cling film to make a mini-greenhouse.
3. Add wheels and turn it into a golf trolley.
4. Make a tent for your cat.
5. Use as a baby swing.
On second thoughts, Health and Safety wouldn’t be happy about the baby swing idea . . . metal fatigue, you know.
IF you’ve ever wondered how firm a grasp the average punter has on subjects such as geography, climatology and global warming then this wee tale that has drifted back from Australia should leave you shaking your sorry head.
Robbie the Lawnmower Salesman from Spittal was visiting an old Geordie mate Down Under last summer and they were lying on the beach talking about old times when Eck says to Robbie: “Here, back home it’ll be Kelso Show this weekend.”
“Aye,” says Robbie, stretching out under Sydney’s still-warm winter sun, “And haven’t they got a grand day for it!”
IT has been a trying week up here in Godzone: we didn’t realise The Byreman’s chest infection was as bad until he missed TWO drinking nights at the Red Lion as well as Ladies’ Day at Kelso, a racing event normally etched into his heart as deeply as his own dear wife’s birthday.
Then a steward’s inquiry had to be called into the latest Grand National sweepstake coup by the landlord’s infant son AJ, a precocious toddler with the suspicious knack of winning everything he enters (indeed, we’re thinking of saddling him up to ride Lucinda Russell’s best mount in next year’s National!).
Finally, a brace of banking traumas for ’Er In Debt: first, our internet bank account was mysteriously frozen as we tried to draw funds with which to open new ISAs. Then the bank – having demanded proofs of identity as a means of unlocking our funds – refused to accept that their account holders “David and Gemma Banks” were the same people as the council rates bill’s rather more formal “A.D. and M.G. Banks”.
If it happens to you, by the way, don’t bother calling the automated customer service number with your mother’s maiden name, first school, place of birth and so on; ’Er Enraged did that and the robotic voice at the other end merely wilfully misunderstood her human dialect and demanded that she “try to find another way of describing the problem”!
I remember the days when I could go into the bank, blow a kiss to the girl on the till and blag a cup of tea from the manager, but that was way back when . . . oh, don’t get me started on zimmer frames again!
I’m serious! My pal Patsy’s mum-in-law had a fall recently, spent a couple of days in hospital (where together they watched a government information film encouraging recycling) and was then discharged with a smart, new zimmer to aid recovery.
A fortnight later, fully recovered, she tried to return the walking frame she no longer needed to the Essex hospital from which it was provided. “Nothing doing,” said the local NHS Trust. “It’s a matter of ’elf and safety, madam.”
Zimmer frames harbour unseen germs, they explained. “Never heard of bleach?” fumed Patsy’s mum. “Or Dettol and a J-cloth?” Still no takers.
So she tried recycling the zimmer via the local Red Cross.
“Sorry, love, but we’ve got a warehouse stuffed full of the wretched things,” said a volunteer, not unsympathetically. It’s a nationwide problem, apparently: Dorset’s Primary Care Trust, for example, finds it cheaper for patients to keep the equipment rather than collecting, cleaning and re-using it. “It also minimises the risk of cross-infection” said a spokesman.
So if you, too, are having trouble finding a use for that redundant granny-walker here’s Five Things You Could Do with an Unwanted Zimmer:
1. Grow runner beans up it.
2. Cover with cling film to make a mini-greenhouse.
3. Add wheels and turn it into a golf trolley.
4. Make a tent for your cat.
5. Use as a baby swing.
On second thoughts, Health and Safety wouldn’t be happy about the baby swing idea . . . metal fatigue, you know.
IF you’ve ever wondered how firm a grasp the average punter has on subjects such as geography, climatology and global warming then this wee tale that has drifted back from Australia should leave you shaking your sorry head.
Robbie the Lawnmower Salesman from Spittal was visiting an old Geordie mate Down Under last summer and they were lying on the beach talking about old times when Eck says to Robbie: “Here, back home it’ll be Kelso Show this weekend.”
“Aye,” says Robbie, stretching out under Sydney’s still-warm winter sun, “And haven’t they got a grand day for it!”
IT has been a trying week up here in Godzone: we didn’t realise The Byreman’s chest infection was as bad until he missed TWO drinking nights at the Red Lion as well as Ladies’ Day at Kelso, a racing event normally etched into his heart as deeply as his own dear wife’s birthday.
Then a steward’s inquiry had to be called into the latest Grand National sweepstake coup by the landlord’s infant son AJ, a precocious toddler with the suspicious knack of winning everything he enters (indeed, we’re thinking of saddling him up to ride Lucinda Russell’s best mount in next year’s National!).
Finally, a brace of banking traumas for ’Er In Debt: first, our internet bank account was mysteriously frozen as we tried to draw funds with which to open new ISAs. Then the bank – having demanded proofs of identity as a means of unlocking our funds – refused to accept that their account holders “David and Gemma Banks” were the same people as the council rates bill’s rather more formal “A.D. and M.G. Banks”.
If it happens to you, by the way, don’t bother calling the automated customer service number with your mother’s maiden name, first school, place of birth and so on; ’Er Enraged did that and the robotic voice at the other end merely wilfully misunderstood her human dialect and demanded that she “try to find another way of describing the problem”!
I remember the days when I could go into the bank, blow a kiss to the girl on the till and blag a cup of tea from the manager, but that was way back when . . . oh, don’t get me started on zimmer frames again!
First published in The Journal, Newcastle upon Tyne, April 16, 2010
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