Here is one for starters. The other day I was talking to an octogenarian friend (I shall not name him), who told me that he had had a double hernia operation about 40 years ago, but feared he might now require another one. He went to his GP who referred him reluctantly to the Conquest Hospital in Hastings.
His interview with the consultant went rather like this: “Let me see, you’re over 80… hm… We don’t usually recommend surgery these days. You’re on warfarin, I see, and heart pills, too. Well, you’ll probably have a stroke. But you’re reasonably fit for your age. Mind you, these ops don’t last. You’ll probably need another one before you’re through. I’d go to the chemist, if I were you, and buy a support.”
“Well,” said my friend, “I got the message, but I was blowed if I’d go to a chemist in Rye – everyone would know, wouldn’t they?”
Readers are invited to submit amusing anecdotes about encounters on Rye High Street (or elsewhere) that throw a light on the idiosyncrasies of youth, age, fashion etc, but please let them be written in a kindly spirit
