Huh.
When I was a student, living in Avignon in the south of France, I remember waking up one morning shortly before Christmas, feeling shivery and as if someone had spent the night sandpapering my throat.
After a couple of days of wheezing and coughing, I took myself to the doctor and explained that I was feeling a bit ropey.
One hour later I had been diagnosed with a severe lung infection, mild asthma and had in my hand a prescription for six different types of medicine, an appointment at the local hospital’s radiology department and an emergency referral to a specialist in pulmonary disease.
The next day I flew home to the UK for the Christmas holidays where my worried parents persuaded me to visit their local GP for a second opinion.
After five minutes in his consulting room, I emerged empty-handed but with a new diagnosis. I had… a cold.
I am not suggesting that the French are a nation of hypochondriacs but they do take their health very seriously.
France is the biggest consumer of antibiotics in Europe. The government has recently tried to wean the country off its dependency with a series of TV advertisements which reassure the ailing that they do not always need drugs.
On the metro, disease hangs thickly in the warm air, and people eye one another warily, sizing up which passenger is likely to be carrying the plague before choosing their seat
A Parisian GP I know, Dr Auber, believes that France enjoys a reputation for having such a great health service simply because its doctors routinely prescribe more medicines.Now he says they are “Anglicising” the system, turning away from the indulgent “There, there” approach and moving towards a much more “Get along with you now” stiff upper lip attitude.