Kids/children/young people.  Whatever you want to call them.  I have them too.  I love them. The other day my older son asked me what is it like to have children?  So I interrupted him every nine seconds until he cried… seriously… I’m one of those mums, I love my own kids but other people’s kids, I can take them or leave them!

However, when it comes to children attending the practice, that’s another story.  What’s sweeter than the sound of children laughing outside your busy practice manager door.  No children laughing.  That’s what.

I sit as far away as I can from reception for obvious reasons!  I’m away from the snides about the waiting time or demands about prescriptions not being ready, even though they were ordered 10 minutes ago! I avoid the weekly patient throwing up incidents and the ‘spray of air freshener’ hourly routine.  I am away from the gossip about the receptionist’s latest quest on Tinder, that not only went badly wrong, he also turned out to be the secretary’s boyfriend.  I’m away from the fact they now hate each other and only correspond via hand signals.  And not pleasant hand signals at that.  I’m away from the GP’s mood about the fact his brand new 4 x 4 hasn’t been delivered and I’m away from the nurse who cries at least three times a week.

I’m up here.  Upstairs.  Away from reception.

But.  I can still hear them.  The children.

Who invented bells?

Why have a bell on reception?

Who invented bells for reception?!

Why can’t people just wait?  Why do they need to ring a bell?  How do they manage to ring said bill so noisily?  Worse, why do parents let their children ring the bell?  Not one tiny polite ding of the bell but a multitude of dings. Ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding DING!  That noise carries.  All the way up to the top of the stairs.

Also, there’s a waiting area upstairs.  Right outside my door.  Today I hear an entourage of children making their way up, mum starts taking selfies with her kids, demanding they ‘say cheese’, the kids are clearly used to the routine as they all shout cheese.  A lot.

Then the racing starts.  The chairs have become imaginary houses and the area in-between a race track.  Two boys run around while shouting ‘you wanna piece of me’ over and over again while the other says he’s ringing the police to ‘put him in jail’.  The thumping on the corridor makes the lights shake and a picture hangs on by a thread to its hook.  Mum occasionally mutters to stop it.  They ignore her and continue to resemble a herd of elephants. A herd of elephants in a china shop that is.

I have to sit on my hands to not go out there and say *something*.  Instead, I try to concentrate on completing yet another form that the health board requires about the staff structure.  Next, I’m sure they’ll want the size of the staff’s feet and information on what they’ve had for breakfast.

The kids keep running up and down and they eventually spot me and start hanging around the door.  The mum has raised her head away from her phone and now resorts to saying that if they don’t stop they won’t be having sweets later.  They continue to stare at me.  I make no eye contact. Instead, I get up slowly and walk over.  I smile at mum and get down to kid level.  Then I whisper.  If you carry on making a noise, Santa will defriend your mum on Facebook.   They wonder whether to believe me, but they don’t take the chance.  I hear nothing from them again.

Now where’s that spreadsheet…