Holby City - Tuesday 2nd October 2007

It’s been a long time since I watched Holby City. To be honest actually, I haven’t really been an avid or regular watcher, but dipped in very occasionally to see one consultant give birth whilst operating and another consultant suffer a heart attack as another bumped off his wife. Now, I know the NHS can be exciting (well, that is what I tell myself daily to quell the rush of rapidly diminishing brain cells) but please! Yes it is a drama, yes it cannot be entirely realistic but we all know that in reality consultants tend to wander around in patchwork jumpers, bow ties and sleeveless shirts three sizes too small for them – with an ingrained facial expression of disgust tinged with disappointment. We all know there are few female consultants, at least not ones who don’t spend their time yanking out wombs re-starting the heartbeats of early babies, but Holby can dispense with this. And does. Often.
Last night Abra, the “maverick” surgeon somehow managed to get Nick the “honest” surgeon on board to his illegal and deeply unethical ship-poor-kids-from-Africa-and-use-NHS-resources-to-mend-them-scheme. Only the kid they ended up with was a child soldier from Liberia who enjoyed torturing and killing opposing gang members. With him he brought Abra’s long-lost and unpleasant father, a sort of mercenary arms dealer with an exaggerated panto-style face. Somewhere entangled in this was an on-going and - let’s be frank - tedious battle between a po-faced wooden posh boy Registrar and a hard-faced, two-dimensional, old bag Registrar who accused him of stealing her ring – when it was stolen by an equally wooden ward sister out of revenge. I think they dealt with a patient at some point, but I cannot be certain.
Abra, with the standard conflicting emotions, mended the child, thought he had successfully concealed his father’s identity and was ready to move the scheme on only his hard-drinking nurse girlfriend, Kyla, had been listening to his father’s home truths and ended her shift by slapping him in the face. Posh boy doc gave the stolen ring to a dying man and hard faced doc sped off on her motorbike (a bitch needs a bike!) Holby City is not a show you can dip in and out of. It requires a bit of commitment so, in that respect, will never be quite as easy and everlasting as Casualty which has never let continuity be its guide. I can’t say I was gripped by the illegal surgery plot or the “who stole my ring” story, but I may well tune in next week, just to see if any other dimensions can be added.

Still love Holby? Want more stories about the ring? Chillywinter@hotmail.co.uk