Opinion  

GPs visited from dawn till dusk but were so universally respected that no politician ever wanted rid of them. We wore daisies in our hair and played guitar at coffee time.

Nobody rang at night because they couldn't afford the phone bill. Actually nobody had a phone, so they all fought their way to us through the winter of '67 in newspaper-lined wellies to arrange visits for granny, who'd get chesty if she came out. It sounded terrible...

Until last Monday, when it was so cold it took two cups of tea and a cross teenager to get me out of bed. I drove to work wrapped in a blanket, and when I got there my hands were icy and ladies with breast lumps were gasping and fainting.

Patients lingered. It was too cold to go back outside, for me and for them, so we chatted pleasantly (although there comes a point when another conversation about whether or not you've been growing spring radishes is a bit wearing, even in rural Essex.) Mr Spleen, already subject to more investigations than the Metropolitan Police, managed to dredge up a new organ. He was worried about his thymus, wanted to know if he had one (I had no idea, but dealing with uncertainty is a way of life for him and he was pleased to have something to Google).

I did visits listening to The Carpenters, then fed the receptionist biscuits to keep afternoon surgery under control - patients arrived in pashminas and wellies, but at five o'clock it went suddenly dark and started hailing, and everybody went home. We drank tea till seven then did the same. Of course, when politicians realise that in bad weather patients prefer to be at home drinking hot soup there will be a move to have us visit during storms, unnerving windiness or inauspicious moons.

Patients shouldn't have to go out in the cold lest they become chesty. Mr Spleen's gallstones melt when it's hot, which is why the radiologist can't find them. Perhaps if I visited him on sunny days I might catch them when they re-coalesce.

The sixties are back. I've stuck daisies on my car and bought a guitar. If you can't fight it, you might as well enjoy it.

Dr Selby is a GP from Suffolk. Email her at GPcolumnists@haymarket.com