“That’s kind of you, sir” said Ingram, “we can normally cope, but you look like you could lift them both out at the same time.”
“I can try,” said Tompkins, “saves time.” He strode out to the rear of the ambulance and grabbed the handles of the two contraptions. He pulled and the two came down the rear ramp, one after the other.
“What’s happening?” said Evans under his breath.
“That’s the Whopper Gang and we’re being placed in the shed in the back garden when you leave,” said Tompkins. Evans and Ingram wheeled the stretchers into the house and placed the unconscious man on one of them. The leading ambulanceman had placed a large gauze pad over Colonel Mustard’s nose and secured it in place with long tape wrapped tightly around his head. He helped the other two place the semi-conscious Colonel onto the other stretcher.
“This one looks like he fell from the ceiling and landed on his nose, it’s a hell of a mess,” he commented. “There seems to be a contagion of unconscious young men in this area, we found six others over on the coast road, all draped over a gate, looking as though they’d jumped out of a passing plane.”
“This one slipped and fell, sir,” said Rev Green standing somewhat gingerly on his feet.
“Is that right, slipped on what exactly, and anyway are you all right yourself, sir, you seem to be in some pain, lower abdomen is it?”
“It is just indigestion but thank you for asking.”
“Are you sure, you are peeing yourself, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“That’s just the ice,” said Rev Green, colouring with embarrassment, “the ice I put down there to reduce the swelling. The plastic bag must have leaked.”
“Indigestion, causing swelling, no I don’t think so, you must come with us, sir, because I believe you are a danger to yourself. Self-diagnosis, especially from the Internet is increasingly prevalent, and I believe you have internal issue, as you are wincing a lot. Come with me, I insist.” He took the Rev Green’s arm and escorted him to the ambulance.
Julian Worker Fiction Writing 