I went for my pulmonary rehabilitation assessment today at a ramshackle, local community centre. Ten people were there, finishing their PR course. When they had done and gone I was left alone with four good looking nurses. I thought, “Hey up Bobby, your luck’s in”. I tried every line I knew. I even tried some of Azaards chat up lines. Nothing!
Anyway, after taking my sats, 93, they got me walking up and down a ten metre course to the timing of a buzzer. Up and down, up and down. After six laps I was jiggered. They were chatting. After eight laps I am fading fast. They were still chatting. On the tenth lap I folded on to my knees. One said to the others, “I think he’s had enough”.
I was put in a chair and they took my sats again. 87. “Ah” she says, “you need oxygen when you exercise”. The daft bat, I could have told her that before I started. Then it is on to a long tick-box questionnaire. One of the questions is “Do you ever get angry and frustrated?” Me? Nah!
The upshot of it all was when she asked at the end ”Would you like to start the PR course next week?” I looked at the little dark-haired nurse with the brown eyes and the slender figure and said, “Oh yes please, I would love to”.