Weston General Hospital isn’t shiny or modern. It’s the grumpy uncle of hospitals—a bit creaky, smells like old carpet, but secretly has a heart of gold. The staff remember your name if you’ve been before. The X-ray machine is older than my dad, but it works. And the coffee from the WRVS café? It tastes like washing-up liquid, but they give you a free biscuit if you look sad enough.
So next time you’re in Weston-super-Mare and you twist an ankle chasing a beach ball, don’t panic. Grange Road is waiting. And if you’re lucky, you’ll leave with a funny story, a bandage, and a newfound respect for the people who keep this old Victorian ship afloat. Just avoid the seagulls—they’re the real menace.
