At the doctors

I have come back from holiday sick - the head cold that I brought home as a souvenir has left me feeling just dreadful. My colleagues are, to a one, fans of medicine, me, less so, but finally I couldn't bear it any more and made a trip to the doctor recommended to me.
I have health insurance through the Company, but, having not been sick so far, have never registered to avail myself of the rights of the state - for which I pay a fortune in taxes each month, so getting to see a quack was complicated.
Anyway, being almost in the business, its not what you know but who. I rang a doctor on his mobile, explained that I was a colleague of a friend of his, and he agreed to see me. But at the public clinic in Campi Bisenzio.
Campi Bisenzio doesn't have a good name. And nor is it a place that one would rush to in a hurry. A rabbit warren of streets all having the anonymity of industrial estate blandness, I had just a few days before done a comprehensive tour in search of my luggage (yet again I had made it back to Florence, and my luggage had not). So I was dreading having to return, especially to go to the doctor.
Finally I found the place (under the bridge to the autostrada, turn left at the enormous garage, you can't miss it! were the instructions) and found the doctor waiting for me inside.
Into the small room he was using as a surgery, and in front of me seemed to be a museum exhibit. I realised swiftly that the equipment with no silver paint on the handles, circa 1950s were actually the tools he was going to use to examine me.
What's wrong? he asked.
My ear is all blocked, and I have a sore throat I said.
Right, he said, lighting a candle.
I thought this was an odd beginning. But having recently come back from Asia thought it might be some kind of spa style luxury that was being rolled out for my relaxation. Imagine the horror when the doctor put the oldest looking mirror I have ever seen into the flame then popped it in my mouth, ostensibly to have a look at my tonsils.
Aggggghhhhh, I grumbled loudly, 'icks 'ot!
Cosa? he asked me in Italian
Caldo, fha caldo! I said.
Yes, he explained, this is because otherwise the breath fogs up the mirror. I am pretty sure that in Hong Kong with the shiy-handled devices that there are in use there, this does not happen.
Anyway, aside from the hot mirror incident he seemed very good at his job. Ah yes, he said in the end, You have fnagbah ab flfjvb (unknown Italian word) and a little fksndfksdfb (ditto.) Note to self: learn common Italian illness words....
Ahhhh, I replied.
He seems to think it is not life threatening, and prescribed a whole selection of products to keep a whole selection of Companies in business for a while.
If its not better in 12 days he told me to go back and see him again.
We'll see....