Slop ponders the medicolegal perils of not being MRCOG

Abstract

As Mr Slop FRCS sauntered down from Holborn underground station, he thought he would take a detour through leafy Lincoln's Inn Fields. Summer was truly here and the grass had grown lush after emerging from the wettest, most miserably cold winter and spring Slop could remember. Only one other winter had been comparable. It was 1962, during the Big Freeze, and Slop recalled nursing his chilblains while shivering under six blankets – for it was long before the invention of central heating.