ABSTRACT
I have been talking and writing about the National Health Service for literally decades from my academic armchair observer's position. Of course, as a conscientious researcher and teacher I made it my business to talk to practitioners and patients about their experiences and to visit medical institutions whenever the opportunity arose. Moreover, as relatives or friends in the course of time fell ill and needed treatment or care, I was able to learn something vicariously from their experience. Nevertheless, having been exceptionally lucky in my gene endowment and in the subsequent environment in which I grew up, I had not, until very recently, had occasion to make any substantial use of the provisions of the National Health Service. My children were born before the service itself, and fortunately they also enjoyed good health. I paid an occasional visit to the general practitioner with whom I was registered – perhaps averaging a couple of visits a year over 30 years –in order to get an occasional antibiotic prescription or inoculations when traveling. Until 1985, my personal experience of hospital amounted to only a day and a half in 1966 for a minor gynecological procedure.
