Taking Africa with me

In a wood panelled pub whose walls have known countless evenings of sheep farmers, pipe smoke and ribaldry, I sat and read my book. A few locals at the counter nursing quiet conversation and their beers. Me drinking the finest pint of Guinness that ever did grace the green isle- snow outside- could almost hear the angels. Welcome to Ireland- I’ll forgo the Northern Ireland bit, but that is where I am.
Conscripted by myself away from the loving arms of my dearest who has remained in Bristol, to the strange little town of Enniskillen in Co. Fermanagh. I have been engaged with a two week locum in the hospital here. A 16 year old with Anorexia, a 12 year old with too much Vodka and a few wee wheezy ones. Good, kindly nurses and doctors. Myself, Raj and Sree shoot the breeze most evenings. It seems that most Indian doctors do the forced separation from wives and family to get that coveted Fellowship of the Royal what-not College.
The full force of British paranoia descended upon my disease burdened body as that blemish on my Chest x-ray performed at Heathrow finally caught up with me. Public health folk here in a tizz as I was barred from having patient contact until I had had a full once over by a pulmonologist (seems like I did have TB once upon a time). Wrought unexpected opportunity to have my lovely fly over to Emerald Land and gambol about a now snow covered Isle. More Guinness (she always leads me astray), folk music into the wee hours, chips and blood sausages, tea in Donegal and more gambolling in the heather in the far reaches of Ireland- and then that swim…

One more night and then back to my hearth and then onto Jersey ...