Sam Macgregor works in an east London call centre, fielding NHS 111 calls. Ahead of his new show, Hold the Line, which debuts at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, he tells us eight valuable lessons he's learned on the job.
1. It's satisfying knowing your London postcodes
Before I started working for NHS 111, I'd never given postcodes much thought. Most people don't — except black cab drivers and maybe the odd quiz enthusiast.
But the more calls I took, the more I started instinctively connecting postcodes to boroughs. Within a few weeks, I could tell you that SE15 is Peckham, N22 is Wood Green, and E17 isn't just a boy band. There's a strange sense of geeky pride in that. It becomes a party trick. Meet someone new, ask where they live, then reel off their postcode like a human SatNav with boundary issues.
On a more serious note, I learned that the postcode you give can also determine the kind of care you're offered. Some boroughs have loads of out-of-hours options — telephone or face-to-face GP slots — while others don’t. That means some people can speak to a doctor relatively easily, and others end up waiting hours in urgent care or A&E. It's postcode lottery meets patient triage, and it can be pretty stark.
2. Phone etiquette is important
Nothing teaches you to sharpen your phone manner like working in a call centre where you're often dealing with life-and-death situations.
In everyday life, I'm pretty casual on the phone, but when someone's scared, in pain, or panicking about a loved one, you learn very quickly how to speak with clarity and care. That can be tough when someone's shouting at you or sobbing down the line, but having a steady, calm 'phone voice' becomes second nature.
Being from Newcastle upon Tyne (although my accent isn't the strongest), I also learned to enunciate clearly — especially when things get tense. Ironically, the Geordie comes out more under pressure, which some people find quite soothing. One young woman having a panic attack once told me my accent helped calm her down and allowed her to breathe more easily. Her dad said the same. Moments like that remind you why the job matters.
3. Monster Energy and Greggs are essential workers
Whether it's a can of Monster, a hot cup of tea or a Greggs pastry, snacks are important in a call centre. You're staring at two screens for eight+ hours, often hearing pretty heavy stuff, and you can't afford to zone out.
The more intense the call, the more it takes out of you mentally. And while I'm sure the NHS Eatwell Guide wouldn't recommend caffeine, salt, fat and sugar as a coping mechanism, sometimes needs must.
Personally, I swear by a pastry and a decaf Nescafé Azera (none of your Gold Blend nonsense — I used to be a barista, you know). During religious festivals, the team often brings in snacks. My favourite? Diwali samosas from a place near Barking. Absolutely elite.
4. Don't bottle it up
People often think 111 is for sprained ankles and questions about cold symptoms, while 999 is where the real emergencies go. But it's not that simple.
At 111, we take some truly tough calls. Mental health crises. End-of-life moments. Scenarios where someone is desperate and doesn't know where else to turn.
I learned the hard way how important it is to debrief. Early in the job, I handled a really distressing mental health call. I thought I was fine afterwards. But when I got home and my mum asked how work was, I found I was really upset. It took me by surprise.
Now I always take a moment after a tough call. Whether it's a colleague, a friend or a manager, checking in with someone is essential. No one can carry that emotional weight alone.
5. Keep your head in the game
A call centre isn’t exactly the most zen environment — two screens, non-stop talking and listening, medical software, people coming and going... it can get overstimulating.
So I learned how to focus. Coffee helps. Fresh air helps. So does movement. The building has 10 floors, so I often take the stairs on breaks to clear my head.
Management sometimes bring in wellness boosts like massage therapists or therapy dogs — although frustratingly, that always seems to happen on weekdays and I work weekends. Either that or the weekday staff are inventing tales of mystical back rubs and puppies just to wind us weekend shift workers up.
6. Medical professionals are amazing
I always respected medical professionals, but working alongside GPs, paramedics, nurses and pharmacists gave me a new level of insight. You'll often be sitting next to someone with years of clinical experience, who might be in uniform or just jeans and a hoodie. They're friendly, generous with their knowledge, and if they overhear you handling a tough call well, they'll say so. That encouragement goes a long way. And you get to call them by their first names too, not just "Dr So-and-So". It makes you feel like part of the team.
7. Big Brother is listening
You know that line: "This call is being recorded for training and quality purposes"? Well it is. Every single call is monitored. So are your breaks. It makes sense; if someone needs urgent medical advice, there has to be someone there to take the call.
But let me tell you: when nature calls and you've just downed a coffee, those bathroom breaks can get clocked. Cue a gentle message from a supervisor: "Hey, you OK?" Translation: "Get back to your desk, we're backed up." You learn to time your tea breaks with military precision.
8. We all need the NHS
I've dislocated my shoulder (three times), broken my jaw, broken a few arms and wrists, had surgery, and lost my appendix along the way. Reading that back, I sound like I'm either incredibly clumsy or into extreme sports — I'm not. I'm just... living proof that sometimes gravity wins.
But all of it has made me realise how vital the NHS is. From receptionists to hospital staff to the people answering the phones, it's a system built on care, expertise and constant pressure.
Working at 111 has made that clearer than ever. When I help someone get the right care, especially if they're scared or unsure what to do, it's a good day.
That said, it's also been hard to watch services become more stretched and underfunded. You see it in the wait times. You hear it in patients' voices. It's frustrating. But when the system does work, and someone gets what they need, you remember why it's worth it.
Hold The Line by Sam Macgregor is performing at 4.25pm in the Pleasance Courtyard (Bunker Two) in Edinburgh from 30 July-25 August (not 18th)
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