sighed Grimsdyke reflectively. “A creature I once saw described in an American gynaecology book as ‘A constipated biped with pain in the back’.” “Well, there’s one thing,” I told him firmly. “It’s going to be many a long day before I get involved with another one.” “I only wish I could agree with you, old lad. I really do. But unfortunately it’s a striking psychological fact that once a man has made a fool of himself over one woman, he can hardly wait to repeat the performance with another.” The conversation then lapsed. It was our last night at the hospital we had first entered as students over eight years before, and we were sitting together in a corner of the empty bar of the King George, looking dejected. My final weeks in St Swithin’s had not been particularly happy ones. Gossip spreads in a hospital like sand at a picnic, and my companions in the residency had enjoyed chaffing me heartily, while all the nurses bit their lips and giggled every time I went past.
