Chutney Wars

Abstract

Whistling tunelessly, hands deep in pockets full of holes, MacLeod meandered through the outpatient’s clinic, a land of peeling paint and uncomfortable seating arrangements. Outpatient’s had become a habit but it was a habit that he enjoyed. Outpatient’s duties were a pleasure because the patients were mostly well, and always immeasurably grateful for the care they had been given on the wards. It was a cheerful clinic, a celebration of life’s victory over death. The patients had been through the worst of experiences, surviving chemotherapy and their cancers. The patients’ appointments with the doctors were mostly taken up with family news and monsoon-like outpourings of gratitude. In this clinic, sitting behind an Edwardian oak desk, MacLeod felt as though his medical skills were redefined and had become those of a certain class of old fashioned GP working on remote Scottish islands.