Praise be the NHS.

I've often felt a slight apprehension to those who complain too much. Sure, I may be a misanthropic and hateful cynic, but there have to be lines and unfortunately the wrong things fall into the line of fire.

So, the NHS. My experiences with it have been relatively small - having only required to attend hospital for my own ailments aged 6 (hearing problems) and a few other problems even prior to that (heart murmur, lovely), I've never had much knowledge of the environment.

However, my record with being a visitor is rather woeful to say the least. Last year, I went to visit both my sick older brother and father (months apart, not at the same time) and both of them died the next day. So that was a rather bad omen for my hospital visits.

BUT ALAS - I needed to make one today. Waking my mother up at 8am, I forced her to take me to A&E (on the recommendation of an on-call doctor via phone) and there we went: directed to a side office of the A&E department called "Devon Doctors" - I believe it's an emergency doctor's station for when one's GP is too booked up.

Booked up is one way of putting it - I phoned my surgery yesterday and was informed there were no appointments until next Thursday, and that my doctor had retired. Well that was useful.

So, A&E it was. And I don't get what the fuss is about. There were a few people there, and, granted, it wasn't exactly a peak time - however it took me literally less than half an hour to take a seat, be called, get checked, and then diagnosed.

The diagnosis? Tonsilitis. Oooh yippee. Well, I've got my medication and a whole load of advice from the doctor there which was...well, this is where the blog subject comes in. I couldn't fault it. You take a look at all these other countries who have no universal healthcare and you just have to be thankful for what you have. Okay, I had to pay £7.20 for the penicillin, but that's hardly bank-shattering amounts.

So thank you, NHS. I say this with a genuine, yet slightly infected and swollen, face.