My friend TOWTAL (The One Who Talks A Lot) is in hospital with a broken leg and ankle, sustained whilst playing football on Saturday.

This meant a trip to the hospital on Sunday to visit him after his ankle had been pinned.

I don’t like hospitals.  I never have.  They are nothing like the television would have you believe, nothing at all.  In fact, I’m pretty sure that the makers of Scrubs have never set foot in a real hospital.

Towtal was in a bed in a room with four others, he had no television, or even a bulb in his reading light, so time was passing very slowly.  He is a member of Bupa, but he had not been able to reach them to sort out a private room as they are not available from Saturday lunchtime until Monday morning (if you pay for private medical care, please make sure you get sick during office hours).

Whilst I was there trying to take his mind off his injury by telling him about the run I had been on that morning, a lady came round with a menu.

This would be my first experience of hospital food.  Even if it was vicarious in nature.  The menu itself didn’t seem to bad, and certainly didn’t conjure images of prison food as I had imagined. I pointed out that some of the options looked almost as tasty as the delicious take-away that I would be having later that evening.

After a brief perusal, a frankly starving Towtal settled on Fish and Chips with strawberry trifle for dessert.  A choice I was quite impressed with.

A short while later, it arrived.

I am not sure that words can truly do it justice, except to say that I now know why no-one ever gets fat in Hospital, and it appears the NHS has done a deal to procure the global stocks of square fish.

This photo has not been digitally enhanced in any way.

hospital food