“Is there a doctor in the house?”

A hush falls across the restaurant as people stare aghast at the prostrate body lying on the floor, audibly struggling for breath.

“Please – is there a doctor? This woman needs a doctor!” The waiter asks again, more plaintive, more desperate this time. Someone steps forward; tentatively, yes, but with a brisk, confident nod. He’s ushered towards the patient, kneels down beside her and says, in a calm, clear voice: “Would you like me to tell you about my thesis on depictions of mental health in 19th-century poetry?”

When you’ve worked damn hard to get your PhD in whatever discipline, we feel you’ve earned the right to call yourself ‘Doctor’, nevertheless, the joke is a good one… 😆

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