My dermatologist was becoming increasingly frustrated with the radio next to my hospital bed. He’d turn it off, then two minutes later BBC Radio 4 would spring back to life again. I protested that it wasn’t my responsibility. The radio was not mine, but issued by the hospital. We eventually worked out that there were five switches to turn to “off” for any chance of an uninterrupted conversation.
Later that day I saw my dermatologist again. He accepted my invitation to come to our bike-themed party and turned up in tight cycling shorts.