“If there is a medical doctor on board could you make yourself known to one of the cabin crew please?” It was 3am and I was lying uncomfortably across three seats near the rear of a Boeing 777 trying to sleep. I’m on my way back to Addis after a short trip to the UK when this dreaded announcement penetrated my brain through my foam earplugs.

Now what do I do? I’m registered with the GMC but have no licence to practise; I’m in international airspace (over Egypt I think) and I have no idea what my legal position is if something goes wrong. Kicking off the broken armrest that at some point had flopped down on to my pelvis I sit up and peer nervously over the seat in front. There doesn’t appear to be a stream of enthusiastic medical personnel heading down the aisle to whatever medical emergency is under way. Trying to attract the attention of a crew member by pressing the call button on the unbroken armrest next to my aisle seat wouldn’t help – none of the controls on the little panel work. Trying to turn on one of the lights above the seat to hunt for my glasses wouldn’t be successful either – none of them work. I eventually locate my glasses in a seat pocket, and disentangling myself from the flimsy Ethiopian airlines blanket I smooth down my dishevelled appearance and head off down the aisle in my socks to offer my help. I can’t help thinking about that heroic surgeon who gerrymandered a chest drain out of catheter tubing and a wire coat hanger and saved someone’s life somewhere between Hong Kong and London a few years ago. I locate a member of the crew, and she hurries off towards the front of the plane with me nervously in tow, wondering if I’ll need a coat hanger.

A short while later I’m back in my seat. An overweight 54-year-old Zimbabwean woman on a hefty dose of blood pressure pills and on the way to her brother’s funeral in Harare had jumped up to go to the toilet and passed out in the aisle. No coat hanger needed – just a comforting word for the patient and the crew and a plastic airline cup of water. There’s still time to sleep. I settle back down across the three seats under the thin blanket. The armrest flops back down on my pelvis and I doze off.

Earlier that evening and shortly after take-off, noise-cancelling earphones in place, I’d settled down to watch “The Verdict” – a 1982 legal drama with Paul Newman. Suddenly someone pokes me in my upper arm. “How do you open it?” asks a young woman in a startling red dress. She was tugging on the ashtray flap on the toilet door across the aisle from my seat wondering why the door wouldn’t open. Pulling out my earphones and making sure the “toilet occupied” light wasn’t on, I said “you push”, pointing at the word “PUSH” displayed on the door just next to the ashtray. Smiling broadly and thanking me effusively she pushes the door open and disappears inside. However she didn’t realise you then have to lock it. Predictably a few seconds later a large older lady comes down the aisle and, clearly knowing the tricks of the trade, pushes where it says “PUSH”. The door starts to open, then to Large Lady’s enormous surprise is slams shut from the inside. A battle ensues. Push. Slam! Push. Slam! Eventually large Lady realises there must be someone in there who hasn’t locked the door and decides to wait meekly in the aisle. Not a little amused and putting my earphones back in I return to Paul Newman’s seemingly hopeless legal problems.

After dozing fitfully for a while the next thing I know the plane is getting ready to land at Addis. Somehow I had slept through the offer of an airline breakfast – no great loss. Descent and landing takes an hour, so I decide to watch a TV show on the touch-screen in the back of the headrest in front of me. Loosely swinging off one hinge the screen wobbles quite a bit but at least the touch screen works, given the unresponsive volume and brightness controls on my broken arm rest. I love Ethiopia – the land where things just break.

Coming back through Addis airport is always an unpredictable affair, particularly after collecting your luggage, as it might be x-rayed to see what you are importing so they can charge exorbitant duty. This time I am importing an “uninterruptible power supply” for a PC in the clinic (essentially a big battery), along with several packets of breakfast cereal, Lindt chocolate, bacon, sausages, cheese, butter and (oh joy) two fresh salmon fillets (I know how to make my wife happy!) Smugly clutching my residency permit I scuttle down the escalator past the huge queue waiting for visas so I can get through immigration before they start pulling bags off the luggage belt because another flight needs it. I’m confronted by a screen (put on the wall in portrait orientation rather than landscape resulting in everything on it being squashed sideways) adverting “high quality electrical products”. Ironically this particular electrical product is malfunctioning - half the screen is covered with slowly moving horizontal magenta lines.

More eye-catching though was an Ethiopian Airlines duty-free carrier bag that had been dropped and deserted in the middle of the wide tiled floor leading to the queue I needed to join. No sign of broken glass, but the bag was surrounded by a large and spreading pool of amber liquid that smelt suspiciously like whisky. Underneath the words “Ethiopian Airlines” on the side of the bag was written, rather appropriately, “The New Spirit of Africa!”

To get through immigration I queue up under another screen displaying “use the reliable” accompanied by a picture of a yellow taxi that doesn’t fit on the screen. This alternates with a list of flights headed with the words “Baggage carousel” but no carousel numbers ever appear. Good job there are only three, and that you can see them all from one place.

Flight ET715 landed a while ago but all the passengers must be stuck getting visas as the carousel is completely full with their luggage. My bags are supposed to arrive on this belt. A few minutes later they do – the airport baggage staff just start a second layer.

The x-ray machine for detecting goods that attract duty is occupied so I am ushered through to the exit with my big battery and pork products uninspected. Haile arrives a few minutes later and after much greeting we drive off into the traffic chaos towards Bingham. I’m back.