Is there a doctor in the house?

My appointment was 9.05. In the morning.
This would seem a logical time, for so many reasons. Firstly, it means a quick detour before going to work, minimising the time away from the tedious, mortgage paying nonsense. Secondaly, first thing in the morning means the Doc has little time to overrun his alloted time from previous patients, so should be just about on time, right?
So, I arrive at 9, knowing his time is valuable and not wanting to be the first cause of overrun, so that everyone else can be saved from waiting in the, umm, waiting room amongst the single mothers and pensioners who are only there to pass the time and stink out the place with their deep scent of depression and hopelessness.
As a sidenote, for the technical people amongst us, the practice (why is it called a 'practice' anyway, I want to go to one that's called the 'perfect') has a new system installed. To save valuable time and resources, the doctor no longer buzzes reception to let them know he's ready for a patient. He now clicks on his EDS supplied GUI, which is connected to one of those long, red LED display boards. The main purpose of this is to waste a few seconds, then phone reception, explaining how his computer thing has 'crashed' again and allowing the IT expert behind the desk to show her technical prowess by telling him to 'go out, and then back in again'. A couple of minutes later the buzzer goes and a name appears on the screen. Good job we've got these advancements going in to save time.
Anyway, as 9.10 appears and leaves, a body passes me from the front door and proceeds directly into the doctor's office. "Wait a minute, that's a bit unfair." is my initial thought, before realising it was, in fact, the doctor. So, he's late. Fantastic. I get a little peeved that I make sure I'm not holding anyone up, and realise that he can sometimes be held back through working on a more serious problem on someone else, but I'm not sure not getting his arse out of bed in time to neck his first half-bottle of whisky of the day counts as unavoidable.
Oh, there goes the buzzer. My buttocks strain from the anti-ergonomic chair in anticipation, as someone else's name appears on the screen. Great, now I need to wait on the old boy trundling into the doctor's room and straining to supply a piss-sample from his wrinkly old tadger. So, have to wait another 15 minutes before going in to get a course of antibiotics for the sore throat.
He doesn't write prescriptions any more. He clicks on his EDS SuperDoc system, which prints it out and he just has to sign. Or doesn't. He pulls out his old-fashioned pad and fills it out. "Have you tried coming out and going back in?", asks I, helpfully.