THE HAIRY BIKERS: SI KING. Rob Brydon

THE HAIRY BIKERS: SI KING

As someone with a propensity to be accident-prone, and who has travelled around the world on a motorbike, I’ve had the privilege of seeing many of the world’s healthcare systems. Now, some of those healthcare systems are good and some are bad, but not one of them, in my experience, compares to the NHS. I am so very, very proud of the egalitarian system that we have in the UK and the attitudes, characters, skills, intellect and expertise that are applied to care in our country.

As some of you may know, I had a brain haemorrhage six years ago.

I was cared for by the ITU team at the Royal Victoria Infirmary in Newcastle. They were THE MOST kind, caring, professional people I’ve ever met. Newcastle being the small city it is, I’ve seen some of the care team that looked after me out and about in town. We always stop and say hello. It’s a salient moment when you’re that poorly and vulnerable and you’re totally reliant on the care and kindness of strangers. They are no longer strangers to me.

It just remains for me to say a huge thank you to everyone who works in the NHS, from consultants to cleaners. Thank you, thank you, thank you. You are a massive part of the character and identity of the United Kingdom and we are all rightly proud of what you do.

We all love you!

P.S. RVI ITU, there’s a Belgian chocolate torte coming your way – I promised you one.

Rob Brydon

When my oldest son was just a boy, around eight or nine years old, we were walking together by the river when he fell over and cracked his head open. Blood began to spurt and I knew instantly that the situation required attention from people with greater medical knowledge than mine. Kingston Hospital was the nearest and so I scooped him up in my arms and ran with him to the car. With my son safely in the passenger seat, and holding a clump of tissues to his forehead, we sped off.

Once at the hospital he was treated with great care and compassion and soon my patched-up boy and I were heading home.

Whenever I remember the incident I’m always filled with guilt.

Not because he had the accident while under my care – it could have happened anywhere – but because while I was running to the car with my bleeding son limp in my arms, my primary thought, one that I couldn’t get out of my head, was how much I must resemble Dustin Hoffman in Kramer vs Kramer when he runs through the streets of New York with his fictional son in his arms. Even while we waited in A&E I was picturing myself running through Manhattan. I might even have tried the voice, quietly, under my breath.

Oh dear.

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