Spun beautifully by the synth band Spandau Ballet, affectionally known as the Spands, in February 1983 as they raced up to number 12 in the poptastic UK charts, pure pop Gold.
In 2009 on a visit to Berlin I took the S Bahn to Spandau in search of the elusive ballet that helped inspire the Spands but guess what? Not a sign or a hint of a tutu anywhere!
I did however spy some tights in Kreuzberg, but thats another story not within the remit of this blog.....
But I digress. This week I have, like Basil Fawlty, been experiencing some communication problems....
Faced however, not by the indomitable battleaxe Mrs Richards, but rather by the equally receptive appointments section of the gloriously efficient North Shore Hospital Appointnent system whose reliance on pointless paper and forgotten filing has only been equalled by the East German Government (Leipzig Regional Divisional Command Office Number 8) Stationery Department Paperclip Requisitions Section 14.
Twas the 22nd of the month of February when I received in the post an epistle from the NSH Diabetic Clinic. Thinking it might be acknowledgement of my transfer of care to the renal clinic, or a final goodbye from the clinical staff that I had grown so fond of, I opened the missive.
Dear Andrew, it began
An appointment has been booked for you at the Diabetic Outpatients Clinic on the 13th March at 2pm.
CONFIRMATION REQUIRED
Clinic Date: Tuesday 13th March 2012
Time: 2.00pm....
Anyway to cut a long story short....
Underneath was a final stern paragraph...
On receiving this letter please telephone our Appointments Confirmation Service on 09 xxx xxxx
to confirm your attendance, Failure to do so within 1 week of this letter will result in it being given to another patient.
It concluded in a more conciliatory tone:
If you no longer require the appointment it would be appreciated if you contact us.
I was bemused as to the nature of this sudden reappearance of the Diabetes Clinic into my life, like the reintroduction of a particularly disliked evicted housemate in Big Brother who then goes on to annoy all and sundry yet again. I have heard of late onset diabetes, but late onset appointmentitis?
Naturally I entered into the spirit of things by following the final paragraph's advice....and duly contacted the Diabetes Clinic to enquire whether I need attend, since I was no longer a diabetic after my transplant?
After a protracted pause, an abrupt and cold voice informed that she would let the doctor know and someone would get back to me. And so we left it at that and carried on with our lives, mine a joyous and exuberant joi de vivre, hers in a living compendium of the collected customer service skills of Basil Fawlty.
A week passed without news, and I thought mayhaps the appointment had been deemed as unnecessary. However I was too rash, for what should appear in the letter box a few later, but another letter from the hospital.
This one had exactly the same content as the previous, except some overly zealous functionary had highlighted Confirmation Required in a rather bright purple. Oh how bothersome! Perhaps I was supposed to go after all....but still I declined to get highly strung.
Naturally I rang the clinic to make confirmation but the steely voiced hindrance stopped me short and announced that indeed I was not expected at the clinic anymore as my care had been transferred to the renal clinic. But what about the last letter, I enquired, choosing to ignore mentioning the vibrant graffiti added in for good measure. That was just the system , and the system does take time to process new information.
Concerned now about the mysterious and authoritarian nature of The System, I thanked her and bid her good day.
Just 2 days had elapsed before I received.....not another letter, but this time text from presumably The System. It was just my instinction...
Was this System unstoppable, like an all empowered Terminator from the future,
stealthily wresting control of Earth's electronic systems, starting with the Waitemata District Health Board appointment system? No that would be too far fetched, for as far as I could see the there was no logical calculated system at the hospital and therefore this could only be the product of human design and intelligence.
I resolved to call the number as instructed on the text message.
I explained to the rather bored sounding gentleman in the Appointments call centre that I rather thought that this appointment had been cancelled?
"Are you sure?"
Was Rutherford sure when he split the atom?
Was Glenn Miller sure when he felt in the mood?
Was Cleopatra sure when she played with her asp?
Not only was I assuredly sure but I was in fact adamant.
That's charming I thought, as I proposed to stand my ground until they deliver.
Eventually he agreed to manually override The System and cancel the looming appointment, which he could see had been abrogated by the doctor herself.
I thanked him and hung up... (who let Madonna in here? Get her out!)
However, the communication trilogy was about to spawn yet another ghastly sequel, as unbelievably yet another text arrived just 2 days later.
By now I was almost incandescent with rage.....
Staying calm, I pondered on the appropriate response. How would Bagpuss have reacted when presented with such a situation?
Feeling quite highly strung, I replied with a quick text, as you do.
No reply was forthcoming and my life went into limbo as I awaited a response from The System.
I fretted, slept fitfully, experienced deep stabbing pangs of angst whilst anticipating the dreaded repetition of the recent events. Like Eschers eternally repeating staircase I was stuck in a perpetual cycle of strange purpose.
Or was I? A day passed, then another day, stretching out to a week and still no communication from The System. Was I free at last from this Kafkaesque parody of efficient bureaucracy?
Finally the 13th March dawned and the appointed hour hove into view. Would I get a last minute call from the clinic reception asking where I was.....?
No. the day passed uneventfully! Dare I hope that I was free of The System...?
Had I really escaped from the demonic taunts of the ever repeating cycle of phantom appointments, where I had been held in tow by The System, unable to break through.........
I fought a letter from the void....
But now I've come back again.
Why do I find it hard to write the next line?
When I want the truth to be said.......
Ah Ah Ah Ah Ah
I know this much is true.
Ah Ah Ah Ah Ah
I know this much is true.
I know this much is........
I know this much is.......
True.
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