Google’s Anatomy.

Episode 24: Season Finale.

A group of NHS nurses are sitting around eating chips and watching Eastenders reruns, arguing about who’s turn it is to pomp doctor McRaj, consulting a crude roster one of them has thrown together on the back of a latex exam glove, which, unfortunately, looks like it may not be as sterile as one would hope as it embarks on any form of cavity search.

Somewhere a telephone rings.

Spewing forth a mouthful of Lays (uncanny that) the one who, it would appear, was given special permission by the pope to wear her legs upside down, answers with a “yeah” which might as well have “what the f*ck do you want” tagged onto the end of it.
On the other end of the phone a timid, helpless, gasping-for-air South African accent croaks down the line but is drowned out by a loud hammering. The vibrations can only mean one of two things. Either this is yet another “the cake mixer and I got a little drunk, wound up in bed together and now I can’t reach the off button without getting my fingers stuck in the blades” scenario or her feverish body is clearly wracked with a dark and dangerous tropical disease. Whilst the nurse detects a mysterious hint of a ‘baked goods’ tone in the young South African beauty’s voice it is unfortunately the latter.

“Whatcha problerrrrm?” Nurse Cankles enquires with the enthusiasm of a sun baked dog turd.

“Well,” replies the polished (and wildly intelligent) South African on the other end, “I’ve just been in the bowels of deepest darkest Africa and judging by my symptoms I am concerned that I may have contracted Malaria. I was hoping you could advise me as to what i should do."

“Can I have ya postcoooode plaaayze”. (Trying to work out whether there is an off-license en route, no doubt). Much admin is entered into, pfaffing and shuffling, whilst our heroine is dangerously close to death’s portal. "Malaria you say?" (hours later. clearly not the quickest enema in the colonoscopy ward) "Whatcha sim-timz?"

The well versed list is rattled off. It reads like a W.H.O checklist.

[[silence]] [[clickety click click]] [[silence]]

"Eeeeerm. Well Google's giving me a list of similar symptoms here... You may tr..."

I'm sorry. I'm sorry, WHAT? What the F*CK did you just say? Did you just say GOOGLE?? Did you just actually type G-O-O-G-L-E-.-C-O-M into your browser? Jesus CHRIST lady, my life is hanging in the freaking scales of Hades' ARSEHOLE and you're F*CKING GOOGLING MALARIA?????? Is somebody f*cking kidding me? Are you seriously f*cking KIDDING ME?? Please please for the love of f*cking GONADS tell me there is a camera crew dressed in Spur uniforms and smoking crack ready to come charging around the corner singing "i don't know but I've been told" before i die from an embolism. Or Malaria. Or Typhoid. F*cking HELL!

4 days, 3 blood tests, 2 doctors and one massive f*cking Google search later, the South African waif still teeters precariously on the edge of the precipice of death but knows that she has a reason to live - she has the necessary qualifications to be an NHS nurse. Hell, nursing today, surgery tomorrow - you should see her down a bottle of Tequila and then play Operation. Yee-F*cken-Haaaa party people!