My annual dose of bronchitis began last Monday, when I woke, feeling as though I’d swallowed a tennis ball. By Wednesday I was coughing; it obviously wasn’t going to go away, so a visit to the doctor provided me with antibiotics. I felt a bit better this morning and besides, I needed some shopping for when Nick gets home this afternoon from his week cycling in Majorca.

I was fine at the market, but standing in the queue for the checkout at the supermarket, I began to feel a bit faint. Suddenly there were people shouting and I was helped to an office, sat down and given some water. I soon felt better, thanked them and stood up to leave. But that’s not how it works here. Within minutes four paramedics/ firemen arrived; they asked questions, took my pulse, blood pressure and oxygen saturation. All normal; could I go home now? NO, certainly not! They made a few phone calls, loaded me into their big red fire engine-cum-ambulance and took me to the doctor’s. The on call doctor examined me and finally gave me the all clear. Back into the fire engine/ambulance, to take me back to where I’d parked the car, at the supermarket; no way were they going to let me walk the 200m!

I thanked them, collected my shopping and went home; it was a bit overkill and unnecessary for me, but good to know how efficiently the system works.