“If you need a plumber, just read the reviews online,” some people say. But have you ever tried the method? The first three reviews say, “Troy was terrific, polite and punctual”, which seems great, except they go on to sing his praises in such an excessive manner you’re forced to conclude they were written by his mother. Or by Troy himself. Then follow two reviews of such fierce, unbridled criticism you’re forced to assume they are written by Troy’s aggrieved wife, or abandoned mistress, or – more likely – by his commercial competitor.

Especially as both negative reviews conclude: “We then tried Brian, from Brian’s Plumbing, who was terrific, polite and punctual. I’ve included his phone number just in case it’s useful.”

Of course, there are shortcuts in certain fields. With butchers, you want someone cheery. Luckily, most of them are happy souls – the big smile revealing that only they know what’s in the sausages. When choosing a general practitioner, I find it pays to choose someone who is at least five kilos fatter than yourself – it produces a more sympathetic assessment of your situation. And when choosing a psychologist, they should have myriad problems of their own, just to make you feel you’re not the only person in the room who is a bit crazy.

But these are all minor matters compared with the choice of surgeon. The plumber might stuff up your S-bend but the surgeon could stuff up your knee bend.

At work I look up various medical websites and pull up photos of three surgeons on my shortlist – all blokes – and ask a group of my colleagues: “Who do you think looks the best surgeon?”

It’s a haphazard way to make a decision, but at least I’m hearing a range of views.

Says one, peering at the photo on the screen: “He wears glasses and that might get in the way, once he’s in there, sawing away at your knee. They might fog up at the worst possible moment.”

Or from another: “He looks a bit young. You want someone whose own knees hurt a little – that way he’ll have a bit of sympathy.”

Then, finally, the Goldilocks choice: “What about this one?” says one colleague. “He’s not too young, not too old, and looks nice. Actually, he looks charmingly self-deprecating.”

I make my choice, ring for an appointment and, that night, tell Jocasta of my decision.

“Why him?” she inquires.

I tell her it’s because he looked nice and self-deprecating.

Loading

Jocasta is not impressed. “Self-deprecating? In a surgeon? You don’t want self-deprecating in a surgeon. You want a total arrogant bastard. You want someone who is convinced of their own genius. You want a total psychopath – which, luckily, describes most orthopaedic surgeons.”

Fair point. But then I go back to the website. It turns out my chap has done 1397 of these operations, or something like that – a fair few more, anyway, than the other two.

And besides, when I’m lying there, the fate of my knees in his hands, I like the fact that I’ll look up and see someone who looks nice and, yes, self-deprecating.

If he could only put on a few kilos, he’d be perfect.

To read more from Spectrum, visit our page here.

Get a weekly wrap of views that will challenge, champion and inform your own. Sign up for our Opinion newsletter.