Feelings of anguish.
Crushing central chest pain.
Nausea welling up.
That's the experience of watching BBC3's Junior Doctors.
It's physically painful to witness this tripe of a tragedy for Newcastle Medical School.
First up, we have a prime Charlie who drives a sports car (who does he think he is? A Nurse Practitioner?) and wears aviators. Yes it's the dim, rich boy who wants "to save the world".
Daddy's a doctor.
Mummy's a doctor.
Brother's a doctor.
Why did nobody spot this nit at interview?
He has "really big plans" for "what he want to get out of medicine".
"Get out" !!!!
Lord help us - watch out Harley Street and Channel 5.
The world needs saving all right. From half-wit city wide boys like that.
The unbearable vanity of the man.
He is the one who won't survive (There's always one). His mouth keeps reassuring us that he doesn't know if he is cut out to do this career.
Why not ask someone then? Me, for example.
He'll survive the programme - it plays to his sense of self importance but not the career.
I know, he's only a first year doctor. But he's not a man of 17, he's a man of 24. (Where's the missing year - was Daddy paying for a crammer?).
There's a few of the usual suspects around.
Doreen, a frosty senior nurse who could do with a good moisturiser postures rudely for the camera.
You can still tell the nice ones from the nasty ones.
Nothing changes. They looked exactly the same as in my day.
But our Charlie reassures himself to camera with a level of self-delusion not seen since David Copperfield took Claudia Schiffer for a spin around the block.
She "knows I am not a twat", he says.
She know's you are one more like.
Never fear though. Only a week and a half in and my God, he had some work to do!
Firstly, attending an arrest (which wasn't) with 12 other staff by my count plus a cameraman and production team!!
And secondly doing an unnecessary X-ray and writing up a dose of furosemide. That alone was enough to earn him a triumphant kick of his patent heels as he returned to the bar for a well-earned mojito and a go on his Playstation.
Hero to zero.
One guy, a registrar presumably, appeared in a tie, thank god. So at least he looked smart as he lamely employed the STOP technique to lord it over his new junior.
Future treats include Fat John who is in his second year. He clearly spent the first year eating pies. I'll give him 20 years.
Lucy was trying her hand at the "internal bottom examination". Thank God the camera crew were there.
And at the end of their first day, they are all at home playing pool, not as you might expect a third of the way through their first shift.
The progamme as ever was dominated by a scruffy bunch of female doctors but at least you could see that their nose rings had been removed. Some of the marks had almost begun to heal which was nice. Good old HDTV.
Our heroes kept extolling that The Buck stopped with them.
Really? I am sure they were taking lots of decisions. If the camera crew stick around they may even catch one on film. Most of this shower wouldn't recognise a buck if they ran into one in their Range Rover on the way home from an after-shift rave.
Torturous viewing that I am sure will appease the Snog Marry Avoid crowd.
Get me my beta blockers or a paper bag.
Whichever you can put your hands on first.
Tuesday, 22 February 2011
Sunday, 20 February 2011
C'est La Vie
Okay you can turn your papers over.
Question One:
Who would you are rather employ:
A Someone who will give you 110%,
B Someone who says he will give you 100%,
or
C Someone who's offering up, say 90 to 95%.
You have five seconds.
Time's up.
Anyone who says he can give you 110% is a liar with poor mathematics and a knack for cliche.
Anyone who says he's giving 100% is saying he'll have never be able to give you any more than is currently giving and that he's always operating at maximum capacity. It displays is a lack of vision and understanding about the incredible possibilities of human potential.
And of course as an employer that's all you're after.
It's C by elimination.
C is someone who realises we rarely operate in that maximal zone, who realises there is always room for improvement. His analysis is tinged with an unusual insight and almost humorous honesty.
Of course he won't get the job.
But that's life.
Question One:
Who would you are rather employ:
A Someone who will give you 110%,
B Someone who says he will give you 100%,
or
C Someone who's offering up, say 90 to 95%.
You have five seconds.
Time's up.
Anyone who says he can give you 110% is a liar with poor mathematics and a knack for cliche.
Anyone who says he's giving 100% is saying he'll have never be able to give you any more than is currently giving and that he's always operating at maximum capacity. It displays is a lack of vision and understanding about the incredible possibilities of human potential.
And of course as an employer that's all you're after.
It's C by elimination.
C is someone who realises we rarely operate in that maximal zone, who realises there is always room for improvement. His analysis is tinged with an unusual insight and almost humorous honesty.
Of course he won't get the job.
But that's life.
Tuesday, 15 February 2011
Monday, 31 January 2011
Taking time
I rediscovered "We have all the time in the world" before I had discovered it.
I was pushed by a commercial.
I am not proud of it.
Music can be so context-dependent. John Barry says..said..it is the most personal form of expression there is. Implying that words are so prescriptive.
I faint to disagree. They just need their lack of form perfecting.
But it matters not.
His legacy is almost an entire genre of music and few can claim that.
I love his work.
A single composition conjures up a major cinematic experience and it also stands alone.
Maybe we could dream of moments that would do the same.
You only know who you are when you stand alone.
I found Louis Armstrong on my own. I can't remember exactly how.
I had two tape cassettes of great great great songs.
It was hellzapoppin. Amongst other things.
"What is that great sound that makes that noise in the Bond music, Mum?"
"That's a trumpet. Now go and do your piano practice".
I was pushed by a commercial.
I am not proud of it.
Music can be so context-dependent. John Barry says..said..it is the most personal form of expression there is. Implying that words are so prescriptive.
I faint to disagree. They just need their lack of form perfecting.
But it matters not.
His legacy is almost an entire genre of music and few can claim that.
I love his work.
A single composition conjures up a major cinematic experience and it also stands alone.
Maybe we could dream of moments that would do the same.
You only know who you are when you stand alone.
I found Louis Armstrong on my own. I can't remember exactly how.
I had two tape cassettes of great great great songs.
It was hellzapoppin. Amongst other things.
"What is that great sound that makes that noise in the Bond music, Mum?"
"That's a trumpet. Now go and do your piano practice".
Thursday, 27 January 2011
The Everlasting
We are losing the hope of the infinite.
Has your spirit ever crumpled when putting on a No-Iron shirt?
Do you remember when rulers were Unbreakable?
When watches were Waterproof?
Remember when Shatterproof rulers were downgraded to shatter resistant?
The Neverending Story had two sequels and three conclusions.
Even immortals die - ask any Highlander.
And there's many a claim of undying love buried beneath the frozen sod of a neglected churchyard.
Nothing but aphorisms lasts forever.
But claims that stand out as a challenge to the schoolboy are doomed to end of term revision.
They are expensive things for companies to back up.
Has your spirit ever crumpled when putting on a No-Iron shirt?
Do you remember when rulers were Unbreakable?
When watches were Waterproof?
Remember when Shatterproof rulers were downgraded to shatter resistant?
The Neverending Story had two sequels and three conclusions.
Even immortals die - ask any Highlander.
And there's many a claim of undying love buried beneath the frozen sod of a neglected churchyard.
Nothing but aphorisms lasts forever.
But claims that stand out as a challenge to the schoolboy are doomed to end of term revision.
They are expensive things for companies to back up.
Wednesday, 26 January 2011
2 hip?
It's hip to be square, they claimed.
And yet when I am being hip perhaps getting down with the kids, talking about motorbikes, discussing various counterpoints in the narrative of Neighbours or debating which was the greatest Captain of the Enterprise.
Or teaming up with my other student union acquaintances to get behind some cause or other, or well, lots of other things too numerous to mention that my chums and I get up to while you squares are drinking, womanising and doing macrame, I expect.
So since when is it square to be hip?
When I really give this some thought I reckon that Huey Lewis and the News weren't telling us the full truth.
And yet when I am being hip perhaps getting down with the kids, talking about motorbikes, discussing various counterpoints in the narrative of Neighbours or debating which was the greatest Captain of the Enterprise.
Or teaming up with my other student union acquaintances to get behind some cause or other, or well, lots of other things too numerous to mention that my chums and I get up to while you squares are drinking, womanising and doing macrame, I expect.
So since when is it square to be hip?
When I really give this some thought I reckon that Huey Lewis and the News weren't telling us the full truth.
Monday, 24 January 2011
Mirrors - a poem
A captured spirit
A hurried date
A flick of hair
And fashionably late
A fateful appointment with
Inner reflection
Melting despair
At marching complexion
Anticipation
A night on the town
The fancy dress
Of a tired clown
A passing glance
An absolute must
Reassuring but.
A nightmare to dust
So real. So false.
A factitious dream
A perfect reflection
Of the person we seem.
A spectator sport.
A body report.
That brings a private whine
At inscribed time.
Instant truth.
With ruthless delivery
A tyrant, a bully
A brutal facsimile
A sycophantic playmate
A comrade in arms
Or judge. Or tormentor.
Thief of your charms.
Time stands still
And the illusion’s complete
The ludicrous present
With the future to meet.
You stare down the now
And let it infect
And inform the future
As it warns of the next.
But that’s not what defines us
It’s not how we appear.
It’s a trick
A footnote.
A lie.
Not real.
Because believing is seeing
And not vice-versa.
So there in the glass
Is a better person.
It’s a mirror of mind
So come back from the brink
It awaits your instruction
Just have a think.
It’s in service to please
Obliged to announce.
It’s not an expressway
For ghosts to pounce
Brainwaves trump photons.
Like rock over scissors
So click the chamber
You’ll have more hits than misses.
Strike a pose. Freeze!
And try not to yelp.
Smile at Mr Reflection
He’s just trying to help
He’s the truth at your mercy
A slave to your best
So give him a wink
And push out your chest.
A hurried date
A flick of hair
And fashionably late
A fateful appointment with
Inner reflection
Melting despair
At marching complexion
Anticipation
A night on the town
The fancy dress
Of a tired clown
A passing glance
An absolute must
Reassuring but.
A nightmare to dust
So real. So false.
A factitious dream
A perfect reflection
Of the person we seem.
A spectator sport.
A body report.
That brings a private whine
At inscribed time.
Instant truth.
With ruthless delivery
A tyrant, a bully
A brutal facsimile
A sycophantic playmate
A comrade in arms
Or judge. Or tormentor.
Thief of your charms.
Time stands still
And the illusion’s complete
The ludicrous present
With the future to meet.
You stare down the now
And let it infect
And inform the future
As it warns of the next.
But that’s not what defines us
It’s not how we appear.
It’s a trick
A footnote.
A lie.
Not real.
Because believing is seeing
And not vice-versa.
So there in the glass
Is a better person.
It’s a mirror of mind
So come back from the brink
It awaits your instruction
Just have a think.
It’s in service to please
Obliged to announce.
It’s not an expressway
For ghosts to pounce
Brainwaves trump photons.
Like rock over scissors
So click the chamber
You’ll have more hits than misses.
Strike a pose. Freeze!
And try not to yelp.
Smile at Mr Reflection
He’s just trying to help
He’s the truth at your mercy
A slave to your best
So give him a wink
And push out your chest.
Friday, 21 January 2011
Q:The funniest musical instrument in the world?
A: Monkey Cymbals
Preferably held above the nipples (by a human) at fingertips and, if possible, used infrequently to enhance a pretty formal ceremony.
Preferably held above the nipples (by a human) at fingertips and, if possible, used infrequently to enhance a pretty formal ceremony.
Thursday, 20 January 2011
Accentuate the...Eliminate the...
What drives you?
I'm quite driven by the possibility of negative things happening.
Do you think that's wrong?
Do you think that is pessimistic?
Fear (for want of a better word) of bad things happening, rather than a positive motivation like running towards potential fun and excitement.
For example, if one in 200 people at my age gets a fatal bone cancer and dies within six months, should that shake me up, make me change my life? Or should I just gulp a gulp, shed a crocodile tear to reassure myself I am a human sensitive (or a sensitive human), shake it off, forget it and go out to work and get pissed at the weekend as usual?
Should this dark pessimism propel you?
I think it should.
And I'll bet I am in the minority.
Those who assume that I am being negative and looking on the black side are implying I am a fatalist.
It's a short trip from there to loser.
And I am neither.
So if you answered yes to my claims of pessimism, I will tell you why could not be more wrong.
And worse, why you may be the very creatures of whom you disapprove. Sorry, who you disapprove of.
Let’s soften it.
Let’s not call it a shake up.
Let’s not call it a fork in the road. Let’s call it a gentle bend.
Let’s change the word “fear” to oh, let’s say, “motivating factor”?
Bad things happen to good people.
Shed your tear, sure, but say to yourself: That could have been me. That might be me tomorrow.
Living with no regrets is one of the most motivating forces you can find.
It renews your drive and it forces you to count your blessings.
You have an attitude of gratitude.
You take nothing for granted because you have access to your inventory of everything you are grateful for. (Not grateful to anything supernatural, I would urge. Nobody needs worshipping for your good fortune).
Keep your treasures close, like a list of negatives and positives – you know the sort a girl might makes when she is deciding whether to dump her boyfriend.
When you have this access at your fingertips and you inevitably tire or have a bad day, you have a rich stream of resource pre-lined up.
Pick one and do something positive.
For yourself or even better, for others.
For someone you like. Or even better, someone you hate.
Do. Something.
Call these people what you like.
I like losers like us.
I'm quite driven by the possibility of negative things happening.
Do you think that's wrong?
Do you think that is pessimistic?
Fear (for want of a better word) of bad things happening, rather than a positive motivation like running towards potential fun and excitement.
For example, if one in 200 people at my age gets a fatal bone cancer and dies within six months, should that shake me up, make me change my life? Or should I just gulp a gulp, shed a crocodile tear to reassure myself I am a human sensitive (or a sensitive human), shake it off, forget it and go out to work and get pissed at the weekend as usual?
Should this dark pessimism propel you?
I think it should.
And I'll bet I am in the minority.
Those who assume that I am being negative and looking on the black side are implying I am a fatalist.
It's a short trip from there to loser.
And I am neither.
So if you answered yes to my claims of pessimism, I will tell you why could not be more wrong.
And worse, why you may be the very creatures of whom you disapprove. Sorry, who you disapprove of.
Let’s soften it.
Let’s not call it a shake up.
Let’s not call it a fork in the road. Let’s call it a gentle bend.
Let’s change the word “fear” to oh, let’s say, “motivating factor”?
Bad things happen to good people.
Shed your tear, sure, but say to yourself: That could have been me. That might be me tomorrow.
Living with no regrets is one of the most motivating forces you can find.
It renews your drive and it forces you to count your blessings.
You have an attitude of gratitude.
You take nothing for granted because you have access to your inventory of everything you are grateful for. (Not grateful to anything supernatural, I would urge. Nobody needs worshipping for your good fortune).
Keep your treasures close, like a list of negatives and positives – you know the sort a girl might makes when she is deciding whether to dump her boyfriend.
When you have this access at your fingertips and you inevitably tire or have a bad day, you have a rich stream of resource pre-lined up.
Pick one and do something positive.
For yourself or even better, for others.
For someone you like. Or even better, someone you hate.
Do. Something.
Call these people what you like.
I like losers like us.
Wednesday, 19 January 2011
One word
Can I offer you a tasting note on tonight's movie - Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.
I have always remembered one scene since my last viewing 20 years ago.
I can tell you three things about it - it is better in wide screen (there was none then) and it is better with a Rioja in front of you.
And one more thing ma'am...
It is a father and son tale.
A father whose "way" was unsure (who calls our hero Junior and never Indy; who gave his life to the quest for the holy grail to the exclusion of everything else - an obsession his wife and son could never understand - all of which sets it up for a bit of comedy banter.Oh dear, I hear you cry!)
They find the grail (who wouldn't) and drop it out of reach onto a precipice.
Our hero reaches out with a hand, the other grabbing onto his father's hand trying to pull him out of danger.
He reaches and slips and reaches, grip failing as the pit beckons. His father extends a second hand and implores him to give up the fight for his own life's desire.
Just a little further.
Give it up, Junior.
Just a bit further. I can get it.
The screen edges seem to fuse. The background noise fades.
And one word saves him from a deathly attempt to reach the treasure.
One word stops him from too high a risk of death.
One word.
Indiana.
Breathes his father, finally putting his son first.
The scene last 2 seconds and is worth the price of admission alone.
Two lives. One decision. One moment.
Eternity in a grain of sand.
Rarely does a movie deliver this.
And this movie is just a throwaway comic.
Isn't it?
There's one or two others scenes I am not so happy with, but Lucas and Spielberg have never bothered to engage.
I have always remembered one scene since my last viewing 20 years ago.
I can tell you three things about it - it is better in wide screen (there was none then) and it is better with a Rioja in front of you.
And one more thing ma'am...
It is a father and son tale.
A father whose "way" was unsure (who calls our hero Junior and never Indy; who gave his life to the quest for the holy grail to the exclusion of everything else - an obsession his wife and son could never understand - all of which sets it up for a bit of comedy banter.Oh dear, I hear you cry!)
They find the grail (who wouldn't) and drop it out of reach onto a precipice.
Our hero reaches out with a hand, the other grabbing onto his father's hand trying to pull him out of danger.
He reaches and slips and reaches, grip failing as the pit beckons. His father extends a second hand and implores him to give up the fight for his own life's desire.
Just a little further.
Give it up, Junior.
Just a bit further. I can get it.
The screen edges seem to fuse. The background noise fades.
And one word saves him from a deathly attempt to reach the treasure.
One word stops him from too high a risk of death.
One word.
Indiana.
Breathes his father, finally putting his son first.
The scene last 2 seconds and is worth the price of admission alone.
Two lives. One decision. One moment.
Eternity in a grain of sand.
Rarely does a movie deliver this.
And this movie is just a throwaway comic.
Isn't it?
There's one or two others scenes I am not so happy with, but Lucas and Spielberg have never bothered to engage.
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