But I did know. Or I should have known – after that first encounter.
I was twenty-one, and had just got a job as part-time receptionist at the Barnfield Medical Centre. One Monday morning I got a phone call from this maniac. I can still remember the conversation, almost word for word:

Maniac: I want to make an appointment with Dr Plankton.
Me: Dr Plankton is on holiday. Is it urgent?
Maniac: Matter of life and death.
Me: (alarmed) I could fit you in with Dr. Doboman?
Maniac: No – we don’t get on. The man’s a fool. What about the old Irish Biddy? She
seems to know her onions.
Me:(coolly) If you mean Dr O’Mara, she has left the practice. (pause while I scan the vdu)
I see that Dr Shiva has had a cancellation – if you could get here for ten o clock?
Maniac: Well, ok – providing you can supply an interpreter.
Me: I beg your pardon.
Maniac: Only joking, love – see you at ten. By the way, you’re new aren’t you?
What's your name?
Me; (startled) Georgina
Maniac: Well, talk about coincidence! I’m GEORGE – George Turner. Although actually,
I don’t believe in coincidence; I favour Jung’s synchronicity. Something has
brought us together this Monday morning.
Me: (trying to regain control of the situation) Well, ten o clock then, Mr Turner?
Maniac: I can’t wait – Georgina!

As I put the phone down I could see Marjorie, the other receptionist, giving me this funny look.
'What' I said.
‘Turner? George Turner?' her eyebrows raised.
'Yes, why? Do you know him?'
She gave a tired smile. 'We all know him, love. George is our resident hypochondriac.'
‘But he said it was a matter of life and death’ I protested weakly.
‘He usually does, love – and it’s always some vague ache or pain – or depression. Just wait – you’ll see.’

He turned up, half an hour late – in a wheelchair.