If symptoms

persist. . .

IT IS A well-known fact that one of the best preservatives against ill health is self-employment. The self-employed cannot afford to be ill, while those in the employ of others cannot afford (it often seems) to be entirely well. A friend of mine once ran a business in which he tried to employ young British school" leavers. The attempt very nearly bankrupted him. As one of his young employees said to him when upbraided about his continual absences from work, 'But I'm entitled to two days sick a week.'

The epidemiological distinction between self-employment and employ by others receives startling confirmation in Her Majesty's prisons. Every prisoner has to be medically examined within 24 hours of being received into custody, and the doctor has not only to screen for any illnesses, but allocate a work category. The interview is often rather sticky.

'Have you seen your doctor recently?'

'I can't remember.'

'Well, have a try.'

'I think it might have been this morn- ing.'

'Either it was this morning or it wasn't.'

'I can't remember.'

'Have another try.'

'It was this morning.'

'And why did you go to see him?' 'Depression.'

'What were you depressed about?'

'I can't remember.'

'It wasn't all that long ago.'

'My court case.'

Last week, one of the prisoners — a burglar — tried to hang himself in police custody because his wife had decided to leave him.

'She says she's fed up with me being arrested all the time.'

'Are you going to go straight, then?' I asked.

'I'm trying,' he said. 'This is my first offence since Christmas.'

`Do you offend often?'

'Not as often as I used to. I'm cutting it down gradually, doctor.'

'Like smoking,' I said.

It's amazing how many criminals have had serious road accidents — almost all of them, in fact. Most have artificial bits of skulls and pins and plates in their legs, and all of them without exception have healed lacerations of their wrists, from when they 'fell through a window', in their eagerness no doubt to reach the video or stereo set. Quite a few have a tattoo round their nipples saying 'Made in England', but I suppose that is quite another matter.

Usually, though, the allocation of a work category poses no problems. The majority of prisoners, pins and plates notwithstanding, are category IA. The main problem in categorisation is those who appear in prison with a walking stick.

'It's the arthuritis, doctor,' they say. 'I've had it for years. It really plays me up.'

'Are you taking any medicine for it?' I ask.

'Yes, doctor, the little white ones.'

'I don't suppose you can remember what they're called?'

'No, doctor; I'm sorry.'

'And how bad is it, the arthuritis?'

'It's terrible, doctor. I can't climb no stairs. Can you locate me flat, please, doctor?'

Locate flat means that the prisoner lives on the ground floor and is not required to climb stairs to fetch his food or go to work.

'And what are you in prison for?' 'Burglary, doctor.'

'Then I suppose that you must spe- cialise in ground-floor flats and bunga- lows.'

Theodore Dalrymple