We go to the labour ward.

In the corridor on the way, there is a sign inviting people to volunteer for hospital radio. I have always wanted to be on the radio, emulating my heroes Peel and Lawley, but I don’t have time to look further just now.

Besides, hospital radio has its problems. It is all very well turning up with your cutting edge Cardiacs and Proclaimers stuff but much of it is taking requests from old people to play Phil Collins records. But the main problem is the restraints on what is or what is not appropriate on grounds of sensitivity. You are not allowed to play ‘Light My Fire’ for instance, in case you upset people in the burns unit. Or ‘Don’t go Breaking my Heart’ out of respect to the cardiology patients. Or anything by Gary Numan in case there is anybody who has lost an index finger in a synthesizer accident.

Normally I would just laugh and say something like ‘haha, it is political correctness gone mad,’ but in truth I am a bit stressed by our impending parenthood and do appreciate the hospital making an effort to be so sensitive to patients’ worries.

I settle the LTLP down in her maternity bed, and switch on the ‘Patientline’ bedside TV to relax us.


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