Robin Pilcher

I’ve just gone to pick up a prescription at the chemist in the village and in front of me in the queue was a woman who obviously had the job of looking after her young granddaughter during the day. The woman was showing the young chemist a small rash on her arm, and I know that she was just hoping beyond hopes that he would just reach behind him, take a tube off the shelf and say, “That should sort you out in a day or two.”

But I’m afraid that was not to be. As I suspected, the chemist shook his head slowly and said with a comforting smile,” I think the best thing would be for you to pop in to see your doctor.”

“Yes, I’ll just do that,” the woman replied but, in honesty, she could barely disguise her exasperation. You see, ‘popping’ to see the doctor was going to entail her fixing up an appointment, which could well be in a couple of days, get someone to look after the granddaughter, walk to get a bus, change buses to get to the surgery, travel all the way back again, pick up prescription at the chemist, get her granddaughter and walk home. There was no ‘popping’ involved. This was a drudge, a slog, and a huge disruption to her day.

The inference of the young chemist was that ‘popping’ was not going to be any bother, that it might be rather light-hearted and fun, maybe do a bit more ‘popping’ on the way, like going to the cinema or having a cup of coffee with a friend. Why couldn’t he just have said, “I know it’s going to be a crashing bore for you and you’ll probably feel like killing me for saying it, but I think you’ll have to see the doctor?”

I’ve been on the receiving end of it too, usually from one of those swish, all glass-fronted car dealerships with whom I’ve just had my car serviced at vast expense, only to get it back to find that something is not working in the car that was never not working when I took it in. “Ah, right, we’ll see to that,” says the service manager in the dark suit, white shirt and tie, who has never stuck his lily-white hand anywhere near the innards of an automobile and therefore has no knowledge as to whether it really can be ‘seen to’. “The best bet then would be if you could just pop it back to us again.”

“Of course I’ll do that,” I reply jauntily, longing to pop, but not really taking into account that it happens to be a 55-mile round trip to the garage, that I managed to coincide the last service with a meeting in town, that my appointment diary is full for the next week, and that precious, expensive fuel will be flowing through my car engine on the way there and back again. “Thank you, I’ll look forward to seeing you again,” I say before hanging up the phone and bursting into tears.

Bank managers use it too. “Good morning, Mr. Pilcher,” says the voice on the phone. “Could you just maybe pop in to see me when you’re passing?” Why can’t they be honest and say, “Come by the office, your overdraft is excessive and I want to flay you alive.”

So I suggest we keep the word ‘pop’ to champagne bottles, good-fun grandfathers, bursting balloons, top-of-the-…, and double barrelled cork guns. Hey, I wonder if you can still get those?