I think I forgot to mention in the write ups of my European excursion that throughout I had an explosive chest cough. The cough was activated if someone stood in front of me and tried to engage me in conversation. I coughed explosively into their faces. Very European.

Once in San Francisco, I swallowed handfuls of Ibuprofen and Amazon cough syrup and the cough abated somewhat.

However this progress was counterbalanced by extreme, deep chest pain. Fearing heart attack, I contact my Provider, which means doctor in Californian, and set up an appointment for the next day.

I have loads of doctor-like checks after which the Provider says, ” You must go to hospital.”

“When?”

“Now!

“How?”

“The ambulance is already here.”

A huge San Francisco Fire Department (SFFD) truck and beautiful ambulance are disgorging paramedics into the parking lot.

I am strapped to a gurney and loaded into the ambulance. I express surprise at the rapidity and vigour of the response. “73 year old guy with chest pains; we don’t fuck about.”

Is there anything cooler than blasting through the sunny streets of San Francisco in a siren-howling, bright-red, SFFD ambulance? Well, maybe the same without being sick I suppose.

I spend 3 days in San Francisco General Hospital.

All kinds of checks and scans.

Anyway, it turns out I have advanced pneumonia, but no immediate risk of heart attack. Hooray!

I prefer Japanese hospital food.

Thanks to SFFD guys and all the staff at Mark Zuckerberg General Hospital, the facilities and treatment are outstanding. Everything is free – thanks MediCal; apparently 71 million folks have Medicare in the U.S.

I bump into one of my SFFD buddies as I leave. “What should I do when I get home?”

“Go to bed and fucking stay there!”

That is the sort of muscular medical treatment I like.