Lurking beneath St. Etheldreda's hospital façade is a secret subterranean world. A world of endless corridors, party-throwing mortuary attendants, baton-happy security guards and legally blind laundry train drivers. This is the part of the hospital the public never gets to see - an underground community of hospital workers making the world above them run like clockwork(ish). Moving between the two worlds - the glue that binds everything together, the thin blue line between efficiency and chaos - are the porters. Whether it's a urine sample, a complaining patient or a dead body - if it's in St. Etheldreda's, you'll need a porter to move it.
Karma-loving, German born Tillman and black-market-Chinese-Viagra selling Frankie rule the porters' roost. But then along comes Simon. To their great amusement, he thinks portering is just a temporary stepping-stone to what he sees as his true calling in life - being a doctor. He's actually ambitious and to top it all, he's about to fall in love with Lucy, a nurse (who all porters know don't date porters). For Frankie, there's only one cure for this heady cocktail of delusion. To wind him up like a clockwork mouse.
Because in this strange parallel universe, with the battle-hardened but exhausted Dr Kelly, hypochondriac, recidivist patient Mark, highly mischievous, gameplaying transplant surgeon Mr Pradeep, and ruthless NHS manager Jane Bison, there's just one big goal for the porters below the decks: getting away with it.
So, lie back, hop on the trolley and enjoy the ride as our porters try to steer the course of least resistance through the topsy-turvy medical seas of life and death.
Porters. An upstairs/downstairs medical comedy. With wheels.