Drams of mulled thoughts

Kisses tell, beauty fades,
All dreams are but passionate charades.
Reason fails, Hope's wells run dry,
Evening's wishes are morning's lie.
Never mind - I love you still.

That dim and distant future

Well, the 7-weeks of torture have finally come to a crashing halt. A part of me survived - that die-hard never-say-never bit that shouldn't be left alone for too long.
Anyway - now this sounds awkward - I simply can't wait to get back to firms. Holidays a wonderful, splendid things and seem to be getting fewer and further between; getting to see one's family is a thing to be treasured. They arrived earlier in the evening, just as I was checking on the Mediterranean roast vegetables and Afghan lamb polo. A wonderfully almost-obsessively regimented round of banter didn't quite get to the question of WHERE to go for a short break. I usually return home for Christmas and I'm wonderfully chatty in the car on the way home from Changi airport; somehow that old, familiar element of leaving behind the term is lacking. Then again, the previously 'normal' eventual heartbreak of re-grafting oneself to a semi-independent state of near-self-reliance won't happen in the same way this time. I don't really know what I'm writing about - I'm just still so glad that the awful past is behind me and shan't catch up if I can do anything about it. It's time for mince pies and nothing is going to ruin that.
'The Constant Gardener' is a good film; certainly worth a watch. Don't be too harsh on the drug companies, though...anyway - can't wait for King Kong and Narnia.

Life's this game of inches

The inches we need are everywhere around us. They're in every break in the game, every minute, every second....
...We claw with our fingernails for that inch. Because we know when we add up all those inches that's going to make the fucking difference between winning and losing. Between livin' and dying. I'll tell you this in any fight it's the guy whose willing to die who's gonna win that inch , and I know that if I'm going to have any life anymore it's because I'm still willin to fight and die for that inch!

-Al Pacino, Any Given Sunday. Logan, J & Stone, O.

Nearly there

Give me strength - to finish.
To end. To finally bring this whole sorry episode to a close.
To go out with a bang. A big, big, big, big bang.

Dribble

It's time to stop when you begin watching Gordon Brown's pre-budget speech online. You should seek help when you find yourself listening to the Conservative rebuttals. However, it's too late when your mouse pointer hovers over the Lib Dem budget comments...

Innominate urge

Well, the longing has come rather early this year; I suppose it's because I shan't be returning until the summer. Just to place that order, "Satu kosong, satu telur" and slump into a plastic chair in my sandals watching the world go by as I wait. Like a turtle, returning to its home shores to lay a motherlode of eggs, year after year after year (what a beautiful analogy).
Life is just one long cover-up strategy, acting out a part you try your best to believe in, trying to remember the script before you mess up your lines. It might seem tired and rotten but, just remember the 'happy' things in those times of deep despair. Deep, deep down, somewhere past the hippocampus.
Find that pot of gold, be it full or simply just faintly fulfilling and hug it tightly, so in the moment of desolation when all around seems bleak and your path is blighted by fiery peril - you can set out firm, square up to it and summon that strength to pull yourself through.
Time to turn the corner, round the edge, cross the drawbridge and bring out the heavy artillery. It's them or me...and if I'm going down, at least I'll go out with a bang. A big one. Explosions always cause fireworks.

Eu thanatos

Let it all be over. Over. Now. Please.

I don't want to ask why
You had to lie and I had to try
To stop the sighs
Because the lies
Make me want to die.

Set that to music; cello music. Play the dirge and let them sing, toll the bells - let them ring - the knell won't tell, heaven or hell but you and I know - we reapeth what we sow....

Primary end-point

'An Inspector Calls' was great fun, as was the party at Purple. Thanks, chaps - great evening and I didn't really know how badly I 'danced' until then...
Chocolate-covered-Sauternes wine-raisins...absolutely delicious.
I didn't realise it until today when I went to collect a few items from the deserted dressing room and I almost can't believe it's over - but, as with all things, one finds oneself moving so fast just to stand still...work rushes on and life drives by in a whirl that you can't stop. A spinning mega-vortex.
Just remember this: Don't cry because it's over; smile because it happened.

Wish

Tonight is opening night for 'An Inspector Calls' - looking forward to it very much.

Now, on to the main surtext: What to do if you are miserable, in a rut and can't dig yourself out of it. Speaking from personal experience (no, I'm not dead, but I think it helps to think things through - try to reach a sensible outcome).

Do you ever wish that you could go to bed and die in your sleep - not in a horrible manner - asphyxiation - but rather to just go to bed and have a sudden massive cerebral haemorrhage so that tomorrow morning you don't wake up...? Being able to make that wish means you have to be complacent enough to believe that you'll wake up tomorrow, confident enough that you won't die in any other way and pessimistic enough to feel that it's the only way out. Lying there, with the duvet over you, snug and soundly asleep...then bang - life's over and that's it. No more worries. No more problems. No more. None. Nothing. Sure, you won't have the *happy times* but at least you won't have to deal with the inevitable...the looming... it'll all be over and even though you know that you've selfishly taken the cop-out method and left a nasty mess for somebody else to clear up - it won't matter...because you won't be around...as I said before - it'll all be over. Once and for all. Bingo.

The drawback - you have to say goodbye to those you love.

NB - I do NOT advocate suicide. It's bad for you and shows that you're...well... weak and confused and you need help.

I suppose, though, as I head to bed that right now, that a haemorrhage wouldn't be such a bad thing. At least if a lovely big one came along to finish me off quickly (and, hopefully completely painlessly) I wouldn't even have to think about it...oh bliss. Bliss. Bliss. To not have to wake up to face another dreadful day that drags me closer to my grave anyway - utter bliss.

That's pretty bad. I've even lost confidence in being able to tell when I'm trying not to exaggerate...sheesh.

Nadir

1st Man: The wonderful thing about sinking to the lower depths of depression is...that it can't get any worse.
2nd Man: You're forgetting that there are different kinds of inflexion points...remember the curve of y = negative x-cubed? A temporary blip at zero before plummeting even further.
1st Man: Oh. Terrific.
2nd Man: Yeah, I know.
1st Man: Tomorrow's another day, another chance to see the world at play, to play a part and try not to say 'I wish it didn't have to be this way.'
2nd Man: Yesterday was today's regret, the soulless shell you can't forget; just as tonight dies to let another day slip through the net.

Postoperative Mortality

I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.
Why put yourself through the intense pressure of something you can't get out of, something you dislike so intensely with your entire being that you want it to emerge in physical form so you can assault it, stab it, murder it in cold blood? Why force yourself to fight a battle you can't win, day after day, night after night - toiling just for the pleasure of others? I've never considered myself a hedonist, but this just goes far beyond anything I could ever have imagined. The worst nightmare - from which you can't awake. I hate it so much, so so so very much that I can't believe how much I want to get out. There is NO way out. None. None. None at all. I can't get out.

Learning to learn

What a difference a fortnight makes.

I'm wondering about the direction in which the medical profession will head...besides management overhauls, funding debates and ethical dilemmas, what about the two most important factors (in my opinion, anyway) - patient care and science? Will magic bullet cures eliminate the need for surgery and interventional therapies? What about gene therapy, stem cells and tissue engineering? More questions than answers at the moment...

Teaching is all about inspiration. You do as much good by downloading knowledge to students as you do by imparting an attitude that aspires to learn more. That said, you can't really blame them for being such a cynical lot...

Nunc

Six fantastic weeks have finally come to an end and I don't really know what to say. Over a lively dinner last night I discussed with five firm-mates what 'having an impact on somebody's life' actually really means and (if you'll pardon my propensity to exaggerate) I came up with quite probably the best thing I've said in a long while. Now, rather grandly, I paraphrase...
No, you won't feel that a few actions and words over a brief period of time will really have changed you. It doesn't seem like a profound paradigm-shift at the moment but the way you've been changed is deeper than that - some day in the future you will be a different person because of this; your behaviour towards others will echo its influence on your life and you will effect the same change on others that this has had on you.

I know that I probably won't understand (for a long time, at least) the true reason that people use the phrase "the good doctor X" but I think I've had my first inkling.
Yeah, I'm getting all bolshy now, but what the heck - we're more than the sum of our parts, aren't we?

I shall really miss that firm.

Today is October 29th, AD 2005. Life is a wonderful thing - one finds a purpose to which one clings, not knowing fully why but believing all the while that it is only in the here and know that it shall be revealed.

JH

Cras...s...tuzumab!

Tomorrow is another day,
When the sad loneliness of today
Brings bitter smiles and happy tears
To wash away those well-worn fears.

Translate from the Magyar...

Hear the cold calls catching the wind, grasping at the nothingness that surrounds it. I'm feeling tired of wishing for a new day to begin; every morning drags the night from its bed and scalds the sunrise with a damp dew that doesn't really smell very nice.
Layouts change and people dither, waiting for a lift that might take them higher; to go up you've got to be at the bottom and it just can't get lower than this.
That lovely word - subarachnoid - or what about 'meninges'...they start to lose their meaning as they swirl around in the mind of a confused medical student who can't seem to decide whether he's actually enjoying the 'high' of drowning in the deep end (he's yet to touch the bottom of the pool) or if that same 'high' is the pre-syncopal warning sign that's actually screaming 'last call - last call - the gate is closing'...
Life is like an electrocardiogram. I never thought in any of my fits of fancy that I'd end up writing this, but here goes. P-wave: that first little bump that tells you something's wrong. QRS-complex: the hundred daggers plunging into your back as you writhe in a puddle. T-wave: cadaveric spasm, rigor mortis. Let's not get into the arrhythmias...

We will not go quietly into the night...

O thou who changest not - grant to him a measure of the grace thou hast given unto me.

I'm beginning to wonder whether self-inflicted stress is worse than exogenous pressure. Either way, one copes.

Two things I've learned so far - nobody knows everything about anything and 58 years old is 'young.'

AVPU nil

So it begins again. The dance that flings us into the good old rhythm of crash & burn. Hurrah for timing. Hurrah for firms. Hurrah for medicine in all its cannulated gory glory. Sound the bleeps. Man the gurneys. Neat.

Guilty, m'lord!

Your honour, my client, the little translucent crab scurried nervously across the beach, oblivious to the heavy tread of footsteps pounding on the sand. I have shown, ladies and gentlemen of the jury that the giant black sandal came squelching down nearby, injuring one delicate leg. Ducking for safety, the crab headed for the waves...until the massive wooden stick came crashing down across its back...prodding it into the waves, flicking and tumbling the little crustacean into the surf. Honourable members of the jury - I beg you to restore some of the wounded pride of this poor animal; insufficient was the hurt caused by the initial assault - the giant stick continued to pry at Mr Crab, forcing him in his injured state into the breaking waves. We do not ask for pity. The grace of the court is not our objective. Indeed, no verdict you return can remove the insult from the injuries that have already been grievously sustained but I beseech you, ladies and gentlemen - restore some small measure of honour and dignity to your fellow crab!

Te..Dium

Horrid. I think Singapore must be one of the few places on earth where's you'll find it faster to walk up/down stairs than use the escalators. These chaps just don't know how to move. No, hot weather doesn't dull the brain - not when you've got sub-zero air-conditioning blasting throughout the underground passageways that quadruple-buttocked people love to block with their wide loads as they stroll along with triple prams at a pace that could barely outrun a chimpanzee in a wheelchair with its brakes locked.
Talk about crowd...the Comex 2005 was quite something...but, as Sartre said - 'Hell is other people'...

Sick, Sick, Sick.

This guy is utterly sick in the head.
An extremist's view of Hurricane Katrina.

Once again, it isn't about whether America's wanton environmental destruction has brought this disaster on the Gulf Coast states; help a nation in need and it will not forget. Like it or not, the Yanks genuinely try to do 'the right thing' (no, I don't like buying into the right-wing media spin, but here goes anyway)... Senor Bush's incompetence at disaster management is proved once again but look here, people - despite the chaotic scenes in Louisiana Americans have mobilised $100 million already. The Aussies and Swiss have given their share; the Japanese have poured in half a million. You see, people, the Yanks don't NEED your money. They have more than enough of their own, but (and I know cliches suck, but never mind) IT'S THE THOUGHT THAT COUNTS! When your back yard or street is utterly destroyed and you're standing on a rooftop begging the rest of the world for help, I won't hold it against the Americans if their memories are longer than yours and they (finally) choose to sit back, shut up and put their wallets away. C'mon, people...do unto others...
No, these guys aren't angels but it's wrong to demonise them because of some political squabbles. It's called 'petty jealousy'. There are plenty of idiots, morons and imbeciles in America (read: G.W.Bush) but, like anywhere else, there are plenty of good people and they deserve some compassion. More than most countries private individuals there are the first to make charitable cash donations and I'd be utterly ashamed if they continued to do so regardless of whether others helped them if we didn't lift a finger at all.

Man, I'm such a nutcase. A virus got into my brain and my cranial interior is now a glazed doughnut (no, Lorenzo, it's scone as in 'gone' not scone as in 'own,'). I think I'll go commit myself right now...

Hurricane Katrina

My sincere and heartfelt condolences to all those affected by this natural disaster. A pity they gave it such a nice name.

Just a short message of support to those Americans out there...oh yes - I sometimes think of myself as a realist, but let's put that to rest for a moment. These people deserve some respect and hope.

I hope all the Americans out there know that we're with them all the way on this one. People might not agree with the war in Iraq or other US actions but, truth be told the USA deserves the solid support of everybody else when innocent lives are lost. Americans were generous with their time, support and money when the tsunami struck Asia and it's high time a like measure of solidarity was returned to the USA. So, America, know that you are not alone!
I haven't heard many condolences from 'world leaders' (okay, the Queen sent a 'message of shock') but it seems most people care more about the effects on the price of gas than the suffering people of the South-East USA. (S.E.Asia, S.E.USA - what's the difference - besides money - they're people, we're people and you don't refuse a helping hand when your fellow man is down and out).
Many people assume that the world's richest nation can fend for itself but what goes around comes around and you reap what you sow - we should never forget that it is the poor in any country who suffer most from such terrible tragedies - lives are wrecked and families ruined. Just because it's happened to a mighty country doesn't mean a helping hand can't be offered; I truly hope you manage to pull through this one and wish that the rest of the world would sit up for just a moment and wish you good luck and lend a helping hand. Oh yes - don't be too proud to accept it, for a simple token of goodwill and friendship does not merely repay the kindness Americans have offered to others in the past - instead, it says 'brother, when you're in trouble, don't despair, I'll be there, so lean on me.'

JH

Time to kowtow

Bamber Gascoigne's 'A Brief History of the Dynasties of China' was a good read. Especially in the light of EU vs China trade 'negotiations'...you see, people - it's a dog-eat-dog world out there and 'fair is foul and foul is fair'...so I suppose payback's a rather bitter pill to swallow. The world didn't lift a finger when the Summer Palace was pillaged; as long as Qing dynasty bronze sculptures keep coming up for auction I'm pretty sure we'll just see more of the same. Yes, yes - forgive and forget - let the sins of the past not be visited on those who dwell in the present; but that's not quite the same when you look at the Chinese time frame. EU central bankers think in terms of fiscal quarters; Chinese emperors plan for the next century...so let's do the right thing and allow the engine of laissez-faire economics to hum along nicely.

Heartfelt sympathies to the suffering people of New Orleans...brace yourself for Hurricane Katrina, folks...that looks like one hell of a storm.

Mekong

Mekong
Originally uploaded by Jason Ho.

Ta Prohm 2

Ta Prohm 2
Originally uploaded by Jason Ho.

Choeung Ek Memorial Centre

Choeung Ek Memorial Centre
Originally uploaded by Chicken #001.

Central/New Market

Central/New Market
Originally uploaded by Chicken #001.

Ta Prohm

Ta Prohm
Originally uploaded by Chicken #001.

Bayon 2

Bayon 2
Originally uploaded by Chicken #001.

Bayon 1

Bayon 1
Originally uploaded by Chicken #001.

Angkor Wat 1

Angkor Wat 1
Originally uploaded by Chicken #001.

20th August

On the 20th August...

1908
Following a scandal involving the use of slave labour to amass a personal fortune, Belgian King Leopold II is forced to hand over the running of the Congo Free State (Zaire) to the Belgian Government.

1914
World War I: German troops occupy the Belgian capital, Brussels

1940
World War II: British Prime Minister Winston Churchill rallies the nation with a contratulatory speech for the RAF winning the Battle of Britain. 'Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few'.

1989
In London, the pleasure cruiser Marchioness is hit by a dredger, the Bowbelle, on the River Thames - 51 people attending a party on the boat are killed.

1998
229 people are killed when a Swissair plane crashes into the Atlantic near the coast of Nova Scotia en route from New York to Geneva.

2005
I'm twenty, on the twentieth. Hurrah.

Bhindi Indie

I know what I see; shapeless shadows on the wall
I know what I hear; empty echoes in the hall
Bring them closer, draw them nearer
Ask them to stay, beg for another day
To see them again, to forget the pain.

JH

Drinking too much Chai gets you a little high.

Okay, long post. Read the third paragraph/section.

As a child I used to take the bus home from primary school; I'd have to cross Holland Avenue each sweltering afternoon to the same ticking noise that would mechanically (now electronically) count down the seconds for the traffic light timer. Tick. Tick. Tick. As the green man signal light began to flash the ticks would begin to speed up, before blurring into a whir and a final trrrrrrrrrtick as the red man took his place on the signal light. I used to think/pretend/deceive myself (for what reason I still don't know) that the strange ticking metallic box next to the traffic light was a bomb - a great incendiary device that would blow if I didn't cross the road before the final whirring signalled the appearance of Mr Red. So I'd scamper across the road with my backpack (which later became a roller-wheel-bag after the odd briefcase/satchel phase before finally returning to the sensible school backpack), fearful lest I should incur the wrath of the ticking timebomb across the road.

That old, irrational childhood fear seems to have been replaced by the current sense of blase defiance/incomprehensible internal paranoia that rumbles through my mind whenever a new act of terrorism is perpetrated against humanity. Strange, that. Old habits die hard.

It was after a good dinner that I sat down to coffee with a few medic chums and, despite the jovial banter I now feel a little uncomfortable with what I observed about myself...and how I seem to fit in with the world around. Well, a little introspection never did anybody much harm...I guess. We're meant to live in a 'meritocratic' 'classless' 'tolerant' society that pays no heed to divisions of race, creed or language; bollocks to that. I'm proud (yeah, pride is such a pain) to say that I'd be the last cynic to give in when everything falls to pieces; I wouldn't spare a second thought about sending in the water cannons and riot police. It's such a harsh and bitter 'every hamster for himself' world out there...and yet - we seem to tread such a fine line between the politically correct (repressed?!) version of rose-tinted bunnyland and the fiery chasm that we know really exists. We (and by we I mean I) put on the blinkers and plant our feet across the gap, pretending and shielding ourselves with the argument that our education and 'englightenment' (I hate hate hate that word) has taught us the fundamental principles of fairness and equality. So we use that as a pathetic excuse to hide behind our rood screens of privilege while we prop up - knowingly and unknowingly - the system that we loathe as it crushes those beneath, supports those above and keeps us safe and dry in the middle as we build our own ladders to the penthouse upstairs.
Verily I say unto thee that it's a pitiful tragedy, because this shameful duality is just a load of tosh. I said earlier that I'd be the last to burn the citadel that shelters me and gives me the platform for this self-righteous and not very coherent ranting proclamation. It's an awful shame because deep down we have that something buried inside that says this is all a big rotten lie and it isn't that we choose not to listen to this still and silent voice, but rather, we put the earplugs in and turn the iPods on full blast. So we bitch and moan about the haves and have-nots but at the end of the day I think it's just an excuse to keep the blinkers on, because we'd much rather not see the misery which we know exists around us when it's so much easier to order another cup of Chai.

Turd Blog

So...this little cretin thinks he's so smart.
http://r3t4rd.blogspot.com
Check it out.

Tyrian Purple. Thank you, Murex.

More silly 'poetry.'
Oh yes - I don't think they should expand the UN Security Council. Muahahahaha. Global conspiracy buffs - have a field day!

See her staring at the ceiling; twiddling those thumbs.
Watch her standing by the doorway; desire manifest.
Ask her if she'll stay - but don't expect an answer.
You won't see her again - lay your heart to rest.

Hey man, smile! It isn't that bad!
A nasty bout of weltschmerz won't kill you (unless you've got lots of paracetamol to hand). Remember - don't do it - your liver could benefit somebody far more deserving!

Quid facies?

Deranged thoughts that beckon you to prowl through the tar-pits of your mind aren't quite what you might wish for at a quarter past four in the morning.
Why is the heart disquieted? To what end is the soul moved to drown itself in self-pitying cocktails of loathing and silent moans? Angst? - On what account?

When you wake up every morning with the word 'dissatisfaction' printed in your mind, embossed on your heart and branded all over your soul you can't help but wonder whether it's all a figment of an overripe imagination. Then you wonder yourself into fits of wondering that really don't get you anywhere - you never should have started in the first place.

Don't you just love cooking shows?

Regret and envy with a good dose of insecurity; bake at low self-esteem for an unstable temperament. Bottle it up and ignore; meanwhile you may prepare the toppings - a liberal dose of conflict and misunderstanding should be kept cold, outside and uncovered. Neglecting the main dish for a while, be sure to beat the toppings thoroughly before mashing the whole thing together. Simmer overnight, being sure to add the finishing touches with a generous helping of spent vigour. Serves 1.

A little bit of BILE

Nope. As far as my lazy spoilt-brat life is concerned, it just couldn't get any worse. Non-stop queues for one stupid 2-week 'social visit pass' renewal...then they take the passport and tell me to collect it tomorrow. More queueing...lovely.

Joshua (my brother) just acquired an Apple Powerbook G4. Some sort of metallic airbrushed trash. Traitor.

Then - to top it all off - I've just realised something. My laptop is currently being raped by a computer technician reformatting the busted drive...and he's taking his time...over a week now...
So, his 'Powerbook' and my mother's lovely sleek new Vaio laptop are suddenly both working splendidly with the wireless router thing I hooked up. Grrrreat. My own laptop doesn't. To round it all off, Joshua now has a desktop AND a (very good) laptop. Plus plus plus - he's using my name to convince my father to use that $100 discount off an iPod that came with his shiny new piece of fruity junk.
So - I've been stuck here - marooned, rather - on this island (Singapore), sweating until kingdom comes, stranded at home - between two construction sites as the crews rip apart Holland Village for the new Circle Line and the neighbouring condominiums 'redevelop' for the umpteenth time...and I'm just wondering how on earth I am finding myself wishing for the end....but the end of what? The holidays? Surely not - the sheer stress-hell of term-time is infinitely worse.

Did I mention that the third movement of the 'Moonlight' Sonata (C# minor) isn't coming along, no matter how frustrated I get with myself....? I thought it looked okay. The same way I thought Swahili and Biblical Hebrew looked fairly squiggly-easy, eh?

Back to square one.

Free Chilli Crab

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/talking_point/4711189.stm
The Great British public has finally woken up. Yesterday's shooting of a completely innocent man is a tragedy; the fact that it had to happen is even more of a tragedy.
Yes, I know it's not a representative sample but anyway - judging from the majority of (fairly understanding) comments on the BBC website, more and more people seem to finally understand the meaning of the word 'sacrifice.' 'Freedom' has fewer letters (yeah, it's easier to spell) but it's not going to buy you safety when some nutcase decides to detonate his homemade explosives next to you on the underground. It'll be too late to wish for a fist of steel in a leather glove (the heavy hand of the law) when PC tolerance permits a frothing psychopath with explosives tied to his waist to hijack your bus and ram it into the Bank of England. Sure, the London Met have been branded 'trigger-happy' but they're just doing their jobs...

Here's something ripped entirely out of context:
"Tolerance is not the same as acceptance. It is actually closer to the opposite: tolerance like this is a clever means of repression."
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/4700779.stm

So, I'm making all these insensitive, rather right-wing comments... just remember - I hold a passport of a staunchly Muslim country. Blah, blah, blah - no, no, no - that doesn't give me any cred at all, does it? A bit like saying "Oh, I've got lots of Chinese friends" just before you tell a joke about slitty-eyed Chinamen (I'm Chinese too, by the way - but I guess that doesn't count for jack as I'm a disgrace to my own race by being completely incapable of speaking Mandarin properly)... anyway - so I don't have any cred...just like all the customs and immigration nonsense I'm going to have to put up with once Messrs Blair and Bush decide to 'get tougher' on all those 'towelheads' whose passports bear the star and crescent. Grrrrrreat news, Jason.

On a more cheerful note - under the auspices of the Singapore Tourism Board I get to claim a FREE chilli crab (Singapore's self-declared national dish). FREE to all 'visitors' for the month of July. Hurrah.
Oh yes - Richard's getting married. In October. To some girl. In Australia. She's rich. Congrats to him. Dammit dammit dammit - I knew I should have studied dentistry.

Stercus

How annoyed can you get? I don't know. Guess. Disappoinment breeds anger, hatred and loathing.
You lousy turd. You lousy, stinking, putrid lump of faecal matter. You don't deserve to exist.
I have one little wish for this pathetic planet. It's a giant bowl of over-ripe tomatoes that ought to be tipped into a cesspool because it can't get any more rotten. Damn you. Damn you. Damn you.

Short fart

CIMG1604
Originally uploaded by Jason Ho.

This is the cushion they make me sit on in order to raise my head to be level with other people...

University Challenge

University Challenge
Originally uploaded by Jason Ho.

David, Jason, Richard and Kitty...

Almost

When you go home, tell them of us and say: 'For your tomorrow we gave our today'
- Memorial inscription, Salisbury Cathedral

How very fitting, considering the events of the past week. A crazy blur in the whirlwind of time, but then again - life goes on.
I think the whole thing is just that - a big bloody waste of life. Sick, sick, sick. People shielding themselves behind the barricades of political correctness. I'm not advocating a purge - just a good, long, hard think and some tough love...y'know - a 'wake up call,' as Charles Clarke likes to say...

Bumped into David Crosse and Hugh Eveleigh today, a warm afternoon on a Winchester street corner - a lovely coincidence.
Driving through Hampshire reminds me, strangely enough, of somewhere - not so long ago - where I almost became the person I could be today. The 'almost me' feeling, I call it.

Bastille day in an hour - Vive la liberte, fraternite et egalite...!
Perhaps those three almosts might manage to survive these 'interesting times' we're currently living in. Let's hope.

Drinks

Goat's milk mango lassi is pretty darn good stuff...yeah...beats milkshakes any day...definitely OK. Luvvit. Fresh coconut juice is just heavenly...slurpy goodness pouring down your gullet...mmm...

Effort

Read the last four paragraphs; the first two are simply mundane chronicles. The last four are a return to my semi-incoherent-quasi-depressive form...

Ah - it's that time of the year again. The steamy tropical afternoon descends upon you as you rouse yourself from the air-conditioned-induced stasis, willing yourself to holler for yet another cool iced coffee. Thirst sated, you recline once again and doze off into an odd slumber, which hovers between a nightmare where you're being chased by ECG waveforms yelling 'ST elevation!' and a lovely dream involving a thrilling, daringly successful mission to rescue the beautiful daughter of the Vatican ambassador...hang on a second...Vatican men are celibate...okay - his beloved orphaned niece, then.

Went along with my uncle to his farm/plantation today; chose to unleash my 'inner oomph' by firing eight rounds (12 gauge shot) from a shotgun - yes, it's confirmed - I'm a cock-eyed freak who aims consistently to the left of the target and can't hit a can at 15 feet. Pathetic - my nine year old (female) cousin did better. Argh. Rather annoyingly some rotten thieves had stolen quite a few ripe mangosteens from the trees...putrid infidels...double argh. Cool comfort finally came as we hacked away at delicious fresh coconuts, squeezing sweet limes into the succulent interiors before draining out the life-force and plastering our hands, lips, faces and shirts with the sweet sappy juice. Simply divine. A stark contrast to the previous half hour of having to inspect farm goats while wearing my Sunday shoes as I tread daintily on slimy goat-muck. Where are boots when you need them?!

If you could do it all over again - what would you do? Terribly sorry for the poorly phrased question - I mean - what would you change if you could? Life is so very full of regrets, which I know only too well. My little 'motto' for the past year has been 'no regrets' and it's soon going to be time to think up a new one on August 20th when I turn 20 - hey! Turning twenty on the twentieth - just noticed - perhaps I ought to have a bash...). The big two-zero...

Anyway - time for a little pause and reflection. 'No regrets' is a bashful yet boastful, simple yet serene little phrase...as I arrived at my uncle's house on Friday afternoon I sat down in front of the piano in a very gloomy, sombre mood; before placing my copy of Beethoven's piano sonata no. 14 in C# minor (You know, the 'Moonlight' one) on the stand I shifted my cousin's sheets aside but the top page caught my glance - the simple title of 'No Regrets' paralysed me for a second that somehow drew itself out into an instantaneous eternity (yeah, yeah, I know it doesn't make sense but I haven't had the chance to use the word 'oxymoron' in ages - oxymoron oxymoron oxymoron!!!). No Regrets - none at all...? Really? No, no, no. I'd be a fool's fool if I was so presumptuous as to declare myself victorious in this ineffable quest.

If anything I've simply become much more impervious to the stinging pain of failure. It's all too evident in the way the roaring fires of rage are used to overheat the cold, mean problem-solving machine in my efforts at countering disappointment. No more tears - the flames evaporate those before they can even quench the parched emotions; instead, the anger burns within - it growls, groans and gnaws away at the self/non-self-inflicted burdens.

So what of the effort - does it help? Does the vainglorious quest to 'never regret anything' mean anything at all? In a sense it succeeds as far as the 'regret' part is concerned - you just slap the word aside and take every event as an unavoidable fact - 'what's done is done and can't be undone!' - iacta alia est - les jeux sont fait - the die is cast! I'm not speaking of a hopeless headlong rush down a path you don't really want to take - just that one feels compelled not to 'look back' but to keep one's eyes on the target ahead, 'for better - or worse.' Then again, the 'no' part isn't quite a resounding success - one breezes into the pits of the unknown, fearful of the consequences of having not done something. You stumble and bumble along until you realise that perhaps all this self-torture isn't worth all you make it seem to be in the grand overall game of averages. You push and push, not wanting to give up - ever. At the end of the day, whether squeezing a stone yields any water isn't up to you; the cliche's a cliche for a spankingly good reason: our call is simply not to question why but rather, just to do - or die.

Spudling says...

"huwlo. i yam jaysonassssssssss broter. Ay hayve deeslexyya. I aym meentally reetarded. pleaas harlp. Theyave lockerds me inn chaynes inn thee baysement."

Unfortunately the paragraph above was written by my slightly overweight, (sober) 15 year-old brother. He's less of a misanthrope than I am but is slightly more capable at first-person-shooter computer games. It's 1.48am right now and we've just had a little session playing 'Dawn of War' (a computer game). He ought to be sleeping but is actually rolling on his queen-sized bed moaning 'I'm hungry, I'm hungry!' despite having had four (rather large) meals today.

In two days we head for the sunny (= parched) lands of tropical Malaysia wherein over-enthusiastic relatives (with whom we aren't really on a first name basis due to the complexities of Chinese naming conventions - but that's another story) dwell in their little cosy habitations amidst the palm trees. There we shall embark on 24-hour rotations of watching DVDs, eating six to seven times a day and spending the remaining hours entertaining our (elderly) grandparents by regaling them with half-baked stories about how much fun it is to study, work, eat healthy (=bland) home-cooked food, save money and do homework. Hurrah.

You know, I thought that this holiday I might actually have the chance to do a couple of interesting things - perhaps before I hit the big 2-0. Alas - alas! I shall be over the hill before even seeing the summit. It pains me. No climbing a mountain and river rafting. No hiking in Slovenia. No escapade to the steppes of outer Mongolia. Argh. They were all on the cards and now I shall be sitting alone playing solitaire.

Hang on - my brother's rolling around again moaning - he wants to play 'CS' which I understand to be either 'Counterstrike' (a computer game) or Cowden Syndrome...poor child. He's started having fits now...I think a little shot of diazepam (valium) might help.

Oh well - it's nearly 2am. I think I should sleep.
Cheerio.

What the young man asked of the wise...and his reply

By Jason Ho
(C) MMV - CMM = CV (hehehe!)

Sir –
Have you a remedy
For this intolerable malady,
An ailment incurable
With symptoms improbable -
Or more likely
Quite, truly, simply,
A sad manifestation
Of morbid infatuation.
It threatens my sanity
With profound depravity
While previous morbidity
Spawns new misery
Which all fecundity
On my part (but not wholly)
Conjures more visions,
Arising not from lesions
But legions of longing
Hoping, trying, yearning,
Yielding naught o’er the years
But tears, jeers and fears.
Is this awful hindrance
A faint passing encumbrance?
Living is dimming
My hopes of winning
The golden prize
That before my eyes
Beckons me nearer
Yet pushes me further
Away from the embrace,
While still seeking the chase.
I am lost and despairing
Of ever fulfilling
This desire so strong
That spurs me to long
For the faintest touch
That would mean so much.

Dear boy –
I know of what you speak,
This inner peace you seem to seek.
Troubled thoughts beguile your heart
Where the ailment seems to start.
Look at the moon tonight –
A calm veneer, bathed in light.
Not from its own!
It shines not alone,
But for the glory of a star
Like those around it but less far
The sun – yes, the sun’s golden gleam
Falls from the night sky’s paler beam
To earth where lunatics pine
With songs of women and wine.
Even a dark night ends, my friend,
As morning’s heralds portend
The chance of a new day
With each golden ray
That shall illumine your mind
For the truth you shall find.
The short answer is this
Doubt not, naught is amiss
For though little Miss
Might not wish to kiss –
You’re better off in solitary
Single, without alimony,
For singlehood’s a pleasure
Unyoked – without a tether!
It’s a foregone conclusion
That, by mutual exclusion,
Bliss and romance
Are best left to chance.
I know that your juvenile,
Hopelessly puerile,
Insatiably febrile love is not facile.
Well, at least you aren’t senile
Like me.

Wireless!

Hip hip, hurrah!
I'm wireless, at long, long last!
We're all wireless! I'm so incredibly pleased...it took quite a while but in the end the simple solution wasn't quite the 'cold hard reboot' pattern I tend to prefer - no, sir - a nice and easy 'reset' does the trick. Oh goody goody goody! So very happy!

I've settled into the ol' summer routine rather quickly...
Swim. Library. Piano. Clearing mail/old books/papers. Attempts to learn fairly useless (for my life, anyway) but rather interesting languages (hieroglyphs this time - Aramaic last summer failed before it began, as did Swahili the year before) - oh, I'm such a pretentious twerp.
Awfully hot weather - a forecast of four or perhaps even five showers (I mean the bathroom kind) to cope with today's heat...lovely, I say.

My heat-addled brain struggles to manage the copious volumes of information I'm trying to process in time for July 8th. Oh yes - the month after that just so happens to be August - birthday month. Hurrah! I'll be turning 20 - this year's motto was 'no regrets' - next year's shall be 'effortless maturity.' Popes have mottos, silly third-year (to be) medical students can have them too...

The EU looks set to collapse. Pity, that. I completely disagree with the French CAP handouts - agricultural pests. I do seem to recall that Britain is a much greater net contributor both in absolute (pound for pound) and percentage of GDP terms....

135 Laos!

I must be the happiest loser alive. Skin of the teeth, as they say. Reprise July 8th...revenge of evil Sith Lord Jason (Darth) Ho as he takes on the goody-two-shoe Jedi foes...
Many thanks to the four lovely supporters who showed up (AJ, Lucy, Linden and Saphira).
Time for Sin City and a fantastic dinner.
I'm so terrifically glad I didn't have the chutzpah to yell out anything stupid like "I love you, Marlene!" in exasperation.

Flying home to Singapore tomorrow - 1830hrs. Somehow, something feels 'unfinished' - I shall find out at the start of next year, I suppose. At least I won't be the only one...it's a two-way thing, this whole business of don't-kiss-don't-tell. You never know when poetic justice decides NOT to slap you in the face and instead of whispering "get lost" chooses instead to tenderly put an arm around your shoulders stooped with desperate loneliness and calmly say "Hey, what's your favourite pancake?" Dream on, you sad shmoe, Jason Ho, dream on!

The sharp end

I've just completed several hours of packing - the final count is 32 - including flute, microwave oven, printer, several bags, several boxes, etc etc etc.
Was reviewing the Queen's Birthday Honours list - who gets which gongs - noted that they've decided to give knighthoods to Iqbal Sacranie and Jonathan Sacks - the Secretary General of the Muslim Council of Great Britain and the Chief Rabbi. Heh - that's the way, Mr Blair. I do recall an article from long ago the mentioned how Britain would never have lost the 13 American colonies if it had made Benjamin Franklin a Fellow of the Royal Society, Thomas Jefferson a knight, George Washington a Lord, etc. The key is to ASSIMILATE 'em. If you can't beat them, join them. If more gongs were given to people who feel 'underprivileged' and discriminated against, they just might feel less inclined to feel that way. Naive, I know - obviously you shouldn't degrade the honours system more than you absolutely have to...and they should definitely make me Lord Privy Seal and give me diplomatic immunity so I can go and shoot people I don't like - I mean, harrass people I do like - I mean - oh shucks.

The mover arrives in twenty minutes.
Lunch with Rashod - after an entire year - ought to be interesting.

Dreams and comments

I've had some rather interesting comments lately - to the dear person who wanted my babies - darling, you flatter me - they're available for auction; please send applications for vetting to:

The Rt. Hon. J. Barot
Physics Department
Westminster School
London

Alright - this is weird. I've been having some rather strange dreams lately - one of them involved somebody I know being hanged at a metro station near my home in Singapore; the previous night's mental escapade had me careening down a motorway (I can't drive) with somebody I know quizzically asking me whether I had any driving experience. Enough!

Movers schmovers...yeah - it's that time of year again. One is faced with the endless delight of boxing and bagging all and sundry for a big (final, hopefully, fingers crossed) move.

I'm going to be in a TV studio next Monday. It should be an interesting encounter with Mr Jeremy Paxman, whom I missed once before. Perhaps he'll go easy on me on account of the 'ickle lad's youth and inexperience'. Dream on, Jason.

What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet. Bitter, cynical Jason (who tries to hard and falls flat on his face) thinks to himself - perhaps if you dance like a lunatic, pray like a man on death row and facilitate the continual transmission of parabiotic 'happiness' to other people (i.e. hugging and kissing) something good (no, I'm not Hindu so I shan't desecrate the concept of karma) will happen to you...of course you shouldn't expect something in return. Life's just not fair, but (I'm sure I've said this before) it's a game of averages, I suppose. Regression to the mean. Regression to the mean. Regression to the mean. Perhaps we should be mean to the regression - I'm not making sense anymore. Given another half-chance I'd go back and do things differently. Oh, so differently.

The little voice inside my head attempts to (smart-arse) pre-empt any attempts by others to correct me: "Quit whining, you little twit - get on with your packing! Oh yes - make sure you do an internet/'phone check-in and perhaps this time you should think a little harder before you choose to a (left) forward aisle seat at the bulkhead next to a screaming baby. The extra legroom you gain is offset by the bassinet and peripheral baby-gear..."

Days until I climb a mountain and check whether I'm prone to altitude sickness: 44

'bye, Nick

I love pancakes.

Good luck, Sandra.
Yeah, you too.
Nick turned around and saw the red light but decided to cross anyway. 'I fear neither man, nor motorbike,' he thought to himself.
Sandra screamed.
Nick was hit - by a small white van. Kersplatt. Blood-stained pedestrians were aghast at the carnage on the road. 'Ugh' said one.
Sandra fainted.
An ambulance arrived and paramedics loaded him on a stretcher - infusion of fluids was initiated to prevent hypovolaemic shock and organ ischaemia. Upon arrival at the hospital, doctors stabilised Nick's blood pressure - blood loss was approaching 20%.
Serum LFTs were sky-high; Nick would need surgery.
10 days later Nick died from an acute MRSA infection.
No multidisciplinary team was needed. Nobody needed to bother with PEG tubes, NG feeding, haemodialysis for damaged kidneys, physiotherapy for injuries, nutritional supplementation for an acutely ill patient (with occult cancer that would have compounded his little problems).
No, no, no. Nick happened to have TNF-a, IL-1, IL-6, TLR-1,2 and 6 polymorhisms that predisposed to severe septic shock and consequent multiple organ failure. The lovely nurse who greeted him after his operation forgot to wash her hands and plastered Nick's bowel drainage tube with a lovely dose of hand-carried MRSA.
Rest in Peace, Nick.

Now for the comments. "You're sick, Jason." "Shut up." "You need to get a life." "I'm not even going to bother writing- you suck."
RIP, Nick.

IMperfect

Message to the 'person' who enjoys anonymously and surreptitiously posting blithe comments, e.g. 'shut up jason' and 'you are thick':

Unless you just so happen to be one of the few 'friends' I happen to have in this awful world, PISS OFF. Yeah. PISS OFF.
If you do happen to be one of my 'friends' - I'm sure I'd love to get to know you better over a cup of arsenic.

Alternatively, you could tell me who you are...otherwise, PISS OFF.

Jason tries to iron a cat.

Nothing to post. Nothing nothing nothing at all.
Food for thought (okay, it's not really food - it's total parenteral nutrition because it's pretty trivial stuff):
Is Y a vowel? If so, why is Y a vowel?
Why do lawyers earn so much money?
What sound do ferrets make?
Why couldn't I just keep my mouth shut for a while?

Tacaroni

I think I'm thick. When you read the same thing over and over and still don't understand it, you must be thick. Or you're just having a hard time understanding why you need to understand hypokalaemia.

For richer, for poorer...

Why? Why? Why?
In a year's time, several people I know / used to know will graduate. They will take up highly paid jobs with great prospects of being able to buy a Ferrari in three to four years. I, on the other hand, will (in that time) have the pleasure of looking forward to 'final' exams (i.e. the gateway to being able to sit for further professional 'qualifications.' Oooooh......lucky me.....
It just keeps getting better.

Tube Schmube

I hate the London Underground. There is no other metro transport system in the world worse than this antiquated iron maiden... No need to go into specifics - when you're stuck in a carriage with a hundred other sweaty people, crammed like sardines, without ventilation, deep in the bowels of the earth, with the trains refusing to run, signal failures, irate drivers, etc etc etc... I ask you - is it ever worth the agony? There is only one improvement they could make - shut it down and start all over again.

On a happier note - salt beef again....lovely salt beef.

A beautiful bird...pavements befou/wled.

It's very annoying when you see clumps of dog faeces lying on the pavement, with flies buzzing around. Very annoying indeed.

The weather seems to have warmed up...c'mon, melt those igloos...

I'm about to roast a poussin (spring chicken)...looks delicious just sitting there in its packaging, a gorgeous morsel just waiting to be ravished...mmm...the most beautiful bird I've ever laid my eyes upon.

Most people seem to be in a fairly good mood. Odd. Life's meant to be a game of averages, a see-saw of checks and balances that modulate our emotions to prevent us from bursting with joy (or anger). Utterly tragic.

Right now, I just wish I could have one wish come true. Just one. Actually, make that two. Or three - yeah, three. Three wishes to thrill...

Liverpool 5-3 AC Milan...

Injera; UC+

Zigni House, 330 Essex Rd, N1 3PB. Islington
Service is a little off, but nothing a yod and a tittle of patience can't solve. Buffet £8.00 Not bad at all; interesting injera. Not spicy enough, though.

The appeal of 'arbeit macht frei' seems to be ringing its usual bell quite loudly at the moment...I don't know why.
The weather seems to have picked up a little, lately. Very nice indeed.

A friend of mine recorded an album over Easter with his band, 'The Pagans'...self-described as "Alternative Indie, heavily influenced by Scottish Folk Music, Jazz, Funk, and some more influences besides. It comes out of the kind of Pentangle/Fairport Convention sound world of the English "Acid Folk" movement of the 60s and 70s."
I have yet to listen to any of the dozen tracks...but it's a surefire bet that this'll be something rather grand - £10.00 apparently.

Darth Ho

Yeah...love it...great film...shoddy love scenes, but I didn't expect much on that front anyway. The good old emperor finally gets to realise his grand design of bringing order and stability to the chaotic universe we live in. I'm so glad a brooding Lord Vader can finally help him in the grand quest to crush dissent, quell rebellion and stamp out (with a cyborg foot) all those puny mutineers. Yoda schmoda. What I don't get - why doesn't Anakin get a red light sabre once he's transferred to the dark side? It still glows blue...

Returned home by tube - with Hugh as my witness, one of the strangest things happened. We were surrounded by young Spanish girls, one of whom asked me whether I spoke the lingo - 'No' I replied - then she asked where I was from. Perhaps it's something to do with being dressed in Sunday best...then another one asked me to say soemthing - it all happened so fast - she raised her ringed thumb towards my face - it was one of those 'aura' rings and it changed colour...they all began to shriek and laugh, before she declared that they'd have to sing for me or do some odd sort of jig...before she began to bob her head up and down and they were all singing some strange number...how very odd. Next stop was theirs - but they continued to wave manically and laugh...waving nonstop...very odd...when I waved back they responded by going a little nutty...very very very strange. I don't know what to make of the whole business....

Jon Ash's Poodle 1

Revenge of the Sith! Star Wars III! Alright - I can't pretend to be a big fan, but I'm certainly looking forward to watching it soon...

I have a little suggestion (unless it's already been done) - they (the big studios) ought to make a film about the plague - the black death. The opening scene could have the nursery rhyme 'Ring O’roses...a pocket full of posies...atishoo, atishoo...we all fall down...' (it refers to the signs and symptoms of the plague). C'mon - it's not that bad - you could throw in some historical violence, tragedy, comedy, even a love story on the sidelines. Perhaps an 'escape scenario' with survivors (a family in the city, lovers separated, etc) serendipitously meeting up in a safe haven. Alright, kitsch, I know - but it's food (or rather, regurgitated mush) for thought if they ever run out of 'ideas.'

Here's another ridiculous story that should hopefully make you wail with anguish as you fail to anticipate the boundaries the near-moribund state of my nearly morally-bankrupt mind...

Jon Ash's Poodle was a small-ish creature, bought from a pet dealer in the suburbs of Durban. Jon was a 50-something-ish batchelor, whose sole aim in life was to further his own hedonistic goals - the pleasure of the flesh, as it were. As a young man he had been encouraged by his family to pursue a career in investment banking, which he did with a quiet tenacity and ferocity that few would expect from such an unassuming individual. Despite a milieu of setbacks, Mr Jon Ash displayed a single-minded devotion to his cause - except that he did not know exactly what this cause was. He finally realised this whilst playing a round of office-golf in the boardroom of the Goldman Sachs mergers and acquisitions head office; it was not a pleasant realisation and he was, thereafter, an even unhappier man than previously.
You must realise that this information is crucial to understanding how and why he decided to become a transplant surgeon - which is, of course, entirely related to his decision to purchase a poodle from a South African pet-shop (which was actually a front for an Irish money laundering syndicate - but that's another story).
The poodle itself was a dainty animal, with sparkling eyes and a liking for double-chocolate (anything with double-chocolate). Its left hind leg had been injured in a freak accident; fortunately an experienced veterinary surgeon had patched up this wound with the utmost care and the poodle soon returned to perfect health, although it couldn't quite jump as high as before. Indeed, the poodle had previously been a champion show-dog and the loss of its ability to make dazzling leaps through hula-hoops was a source of great distress to the poor animal; nevertheless the poodle bore this burden stoically.
Meanwhile, in the throes of his self-inflicted anguish, Jon decided that he required a companion - someone - or preferably, someTHING for him to squeeze when he was frustrated, feed when he was upset and shave when he was bored. He needed a poodle....

egészségedre

I can see clearly now, the rain has gone. I can see all obstacles in my way. Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind - it's gonna be a bright, bright sun-shining day.
Look all around - nothing but blue sky; look straight ahead - nothing but blue sky!

In under a month I shall be atop a mountain in Borneo; after that, the beach beckons. Ooooh yeah....

What defines a mood swing?

A silly thought

'The Jacket' - is a superb film....quite a mind trip, in my opinion. Do watch it if you can.
Just had a thought - Bill Gates continues to pour loads of funding into fighting disease in the developing world....the point is, MONEY TALKS....so perhaps, in our lovely capitalist society, a no-holds-barred financial incentive would get cures for diseases? I know that the cash is out there anyway, but, for example, a massive billion dollar/pound carrot (NOT paid in instalments) for the first person to cure disease X (in addition to letting them patent, sell the drug, etc) might speed things up a little....I think I'm being a little naive and oversimplifying it...but I think in this case, you can't really depend on scientific ambition....MONEY TALKS....

Swipe

I think the swipe-card access doors are programmed to be 'anti-will' - the more determined I am to get into the computer labs, the greater the number of tries before swipe access is granted - up to twenty tries....argh....quite frustrating.

Star Wars III is going to be released fairly soon...

Oh, woe, time is closing in like a pair of crab-shell-crackers on the claw of a steamed Sri Lankan crab, about to be devoured by somebody who just can't wait to be leaving on a jet plane - to go home and snuggle up in his own bed forever...a bit like Marion's cat...

ManUs in Mano...Manic Malcolm; Marion's Cat 4

Malcolm Glazer has just bought Manchester United Football Club... quite a cheeky but very smart move, in my opinion...get them to pay for his purchase...'money makes money' as they say.

I'm having trouble deciding on a BSc subject...choices...choices. Life's so full of them and you just can't afford to make the wrong move. Reminds me of the time I played my Dad at a game of darts. First to reach 300 wins...as I consumed the final Devonshire scone of the day we had arrived at a 'dead heat' - sudden death - just one bull's eye to beat Daddy... I think the play was double or nothing at that point and being a compulsive risk-taker (calculated and most painstakingly re-calculated, of course) I whacked that final dart home and dry... of course, of late I can't exactly say my attempts at 'life' have been too successful - this year has somehow managed to squeeze quite a lot out of me (or did I just happen to lose a lot during its course?)...not entirely unexpected, but then again, not a welcome situation. It doesn't help when the only advice I can give myself is - back straight, Jason - you aren't the only one - other people have it just as bad if not worse...like those lovely Tube drivers who have decided to go on strike from May 23rd...

I've said it before and I'll say it again - life can only get better (sarcastic) - there's less and less to look forward to with each passing day; next year I'll look back and wonder why I wasn't happier/more cheerful; the year after that I'll look back and wonder why I bothered wasting precious time wondering about the year before that - and so on. One could carpe diem and live for the moment, but then one faces the regret of not having attempted to do some 'forward planning' - when it all goes to pieces because you rushed head-first on an impulse into a pile of muck, then even if you try to brush it all aside and plod on, the lesson remains that you either waste time later correcting today's mistakes or dwell (paralysed) on planning for tomorrow, thereby disconnecting yourself from the possibilities of the present. Argh.

Despite this incredibly 'negative' attitude I still rate myself an eternal optimist - never abandon hope...it's still there...always. Anything's better than not having an alternative - so even though 'it can only get worse' and 'this too, shall pass' are constantly rolling off my lips, I still have that stubborn hope for a 'better tomorrow' (what on earth am I saying?!) - the odd idealistic streak within my perpetual melancholy...

Unbeknownst to him, Marion had started to miss her furry feline friend and had decided to replace him with a stuffed Garfield toy. Although this was rather inanimate, Marion found in it a sense of comfort and inner peace which no living creature could ever provide. Marion's (former) cat paced the garden wall, staring morosely at his (former) owner hugging her new Garfield toy each night, tenderly patting it and flashing her hitherto unseen but endearingly beautiful smile at the Garfield toy each morning. The (living) cat understood how difficult it was to make a final, clean break with the past and he stood silently on the patio, calling one final time to Marion. "Meow, meow, meeeowww meow meow." It was a soft, haunting lament of what once was and what could have been. "Meow, meow meow." The double-glazed windows blocked out most noise and Marion managed to convince herself that the mournful wail came from a passing police patrol-car. "Meow - meow." The sun slid behind a cloud and cast a couple of pale rays behind Marion's cat. "Meow."
Marion glanced at the calendar - Friday 13th - she walked out of the house to attend Friday prayers at the local mosque. She unlocked the door but didn't get much further before looking down at the ground where the still, quiet body of her cat lay silently - alone, rejected and abandoned by the one human he thought he might spend a lifetime with. She knelt, bowing her head in sorrow and shock as the wind swatted her face. Not a tear, not a whisper - only her smile - that gorgeous smile - disappeared.

For the reader's interest an Epilogue is provided:
Marion's first thought after her initial shock was whether she could eat the cat - before realising that Islamic law considers such animals haram (unclean). Ever a pragmatic woman, she therefore decided to expedite the burial by contacting the 'pet insurance' company (from which she had very wisely purchased a comprehensive coverage policy) to claim compensation for 'emotional damage and psychological trauma.' What a level-headed lady. The cat was sold to the local Chinese restaurant for the princely sum of £7.40 and was subsequently turned into 'five-spice mixed meat rice.' Garfield lived happily ever after. Marion moved out and emigrated to Ireland recently - her younger sister is about to pursue a doctorate in feline biology in Moscow.

I don't endorse this link!

Cherry smoke; Marion's Cat 3

That smell...that slightly woody, tangy, slightly fruity scent...cherry smoke...so sweet and mellow. It's quite something when a smell manages to make you remember something poignant or triggers a brain-rushing shot that lets you transiently (and euphorically) re-live some bittersweet experience.
Speaking of brain-rushes - I tend to get these in the shower...when I'm not singing. Singing distracts you, but standing under the showerhead with the water cascading over you lets those thoughts rush through millions of synapses...you're aware of all of them at once, but can't piece something together until they reach a critical mass and - whoomph...voila...inspiration.

The tale of Marion's Cat continues...
This semi-blissful coexistence and the tolerant nature of both cat and human was conducive to a quiet, tacitly understood 'working relationship.' However, global warming had caused the approaching summer whether to boil over and the cat grew somewhat restless...it prowled across the verdant garden, longing to be cared for like other pets...to have cool mineral water sprinkled over its fur and a pet-portion cha-soba tuna salad lovingly prepared for it to consume on the lap of its owner. In contrast, the hot weather made Marion rather irritable and she took to prodding the cat in fits of rage. As a young girl she had enjoyed the maidenly sport of boxing, but the effects of a few too many bouts had taken their toll over the years and she had unfortunately developed osteoarthritis, which added to the pain from an elbow fracture (proximal radio-ulnar, comminuted, compound, with a torn annular ligament to boot!) she had sustained in her thirties that had ended her illustrious boxing career and launched her on the path to secretarial fame, working in the prestigious law firm of Cremple, Malhotra and Mars. In the heat of summer, the cat didn't fare too well under its suddenly rage-prone owner, who shunned it constantly, neglected to feed it and, as I mentioned earlier, often abused the animal. This unhappy situation was the backdrop against which Marion's cat decided to search for a new home, wandering through the city for a whole fortnight as it sought out the perfect pad. It was a warm Saturday when he finally found the perfect, uninhabited spot, before dashing back to his previous abode to bid the old house one final farewell...but that was not to be...

Risus Sardonicus; Marion's Cat 2

Oh hurrah - something nice happened. A kind soul spoke to me just as I was contemplating that long-awaited meltdown. Cheers, Noel - you averted chernHObyl by reminding me to go for a swim. Meltdown? Why? Surely not during this blissful month of May, when the birds are twittering away and flowers are blooming...when depraved maniacs murder little children (BBC News) and suicide rates skyrocket...
I was just about to declare victory over the world; I thought that something had finally decided to go right/according to plan for the first time in 22 months. I was wrong. Yet again, the world decides to spit in my face. Oh well. I don't like spitting in public - it's dirty, spreads disease and is intolerably ill-mannered. Very trivial, really - I wait and wait and wait for a book (Handbook of Clinical Anaesthesia), conscientiously checking my 'library holds' each morning for news that the one copy available has finally passed into my possession. Greed, really - notification finally came...this morning...
The rush to St Mary's Hosptial, the pounding heart as I entered the library and produced my swipe card to claim the book... only to be told that it has been 'downgraded' from a standard loan to a short loan due to extremely high demand. As I said before - greed. Argh. All the anticipation to get my grubby little hands on that piece of literature and it has to be returned in under 168 hours.
I'm such a selfish, ungrateful, lazy cretin - but when things don't go well, you're tired, lonely, hungry, depressed, unsuccessful, self-stressed, wondering why, irritable, shunned, miserable, homesick and you've forgotten the combination to the lock that releases the safety valve, then it only takes a gentle tap to tip you into the abyss. Oh dear. I think I've overdone it - it's quite a calming feeling - you sit there, secure in the knowledge that even if things become 'properly worse (as they very easily could),' you couldn't react any worse fashion - there is nothing below absolute zero and in fact, you can't even reach absolute zero (thanks, Kelvin).

Back to Marion's cat...
Marion's cat actually thought he was a ferret - of course, the whiskers would give him away instantly. He wasn't very fussy about his owner or what he was fed, being the kind of animal that would adapt to the situation and try on all accounts to please the kindly soul who had taken him in. From Marion's point of view, the cat was yet another oddity; it often stared at her with a faintly unnerving glance that seemed to say 'that's right, human, wipe that smile off your face and get back to preparing my dinner' or 'write your will and leave everything to me - and don't forget to start a trust fund for my litters.' Nevertheless, she often chose to ignore it and went about her daily business.
It had been a while since Marion had last typed on a computer keyboard - she used to work as a secretary but had to resign after RSI got the better of her. Now, as a lonely spinster sequestered in her studio flat at the end of a row of terrace houses in Ealing, she decided to pass the rest of her days in relative peace and quiet, baking delicious cakes for the local primary school's lunchtime puddings under the new 'Herr Jamie Oliver Meisterplan fur kinder' scheme that aimed to give all children a chance at sampling the five different taste sensations in a single meal (the fifth, 'umami,' had been formally recognised by the Health secretary some two years previously). Thus, as summers and winter flitted past, both Marion and her cat shared the same lebensraum in comparative harmony, not really interacting very much except to acknowledge each other's presence....

Marion's Cat 1

For approximately thirty seconds during my viewing of the film 'Sahara' yesterday evening I was utterly convinced that I should become a specialist with the WHO...investigating outbreaks in remote parts of the world, fleeing dictators and searching for buried treasure (see previous posts for more examples of this transient lunacy). Thankfully the film was so bad I managed to dislodge this fanciful notion before it inspired me to do something really stupid...

Some people have posted comments regarding my earlier suggestion that people should name their children after themselves - boys after their fathers and daughters after their mothers. This, of course only applies to one son and one daughter - therefore you can still have 'variety'...I don't have anything against the concept of diversity.
As for those little comments about 'Jason II' and 'Jason IIa' - you're wrong. The first one's Jason, the second one's Zachary and the third (should I be so unfortunate) would be Michael. In case of contraception failure/if the poor wench I'm wed to doesn't like family planning, then the 4th would be called 'Rasputin' so I remember to book a vasectomy. As for daughters... What a ridiculously silly topic of conversation - there's little else to write about, though.

I have to choose a BSc for my fourth year - stumped. Not too sure.

Apparently May is the month of suicides (BBC article). The 'new' life and rebirth of the world, flowers blooming and birds chirping is too much to bear for the clinically depressed. Oh dear. That's inspired me towrite a short series...of nonsense...here goes...part 1.

Marion's cat wasn't very large and had a golden brown coat. Marion didn't really bother to give her pet a name - strictly it wasn't really her pet at all - one evening the feline had somehow padded its way in through her door, bounded onto her lap and had decided to follow her around ever since. Of course, Marion, being a kind soul didn't object to this intrusion into her intensely-guarded privacy. Having never kept anything before apart from a couple of pine-cones used as make-believe desktop-pets and a parakeet with lung disease that died a day before she signed the pet insurance forms, she didn't exactly know how to take care of a cat................

One Nil

A lovely Sunday afternoon...
Closed away, truly riveting inspiration only now appears.
Lunchtime.

Furdur

Kingdom of Heaven - an interesting topic to make a movie on (the Crusades); historically wildly inaccurate, poor plot development, uninspiring dialogue; the director attempts to fill it with themes from 'Gladiator' (his well-known hit in the 'epic' genre), an idea which goes completely belly-up. The main good point - battle scenes. Yes, siege towers, boiling oil/tar, catapults...the Star Wars III trailer was good too...

Why do people take baths? Showers are fine...I know that baths are nice and relaxing, but they're an awful drain on water resources...it's been ages since I had a bubble-bath...

Magyar Templom signs creeping up all over the place again...

I'm about to make my pitiful green-fibrous-matter contribution to Hugh's adventurous cook-up...an apparent tribute to his admiration for Jamie Oliver.
I think summer weather makes me 'calmly irritable' - hyperactive inside, but lulled by an overcoat of inertia. There are so many things to do, to say, etc.
It's quite annoying - I wanted to murder my brain and drain away any residual intellectual capacity after the exams, but instead I find myself having to blast through yet another term. It's a nicely scheduled one, I'll admit - plenty of free time - to read papers and get myself distracted by strange musings and odd movies.
You can't have everything, I guess.

I overheard a conversation a couple of days ago...about baby names. Personally, I would name a boy after myself and a girl after her mother. Ta-da, problem solved.

Iacta alia est

Mr Blair has been returned to power for another term...let's see if he lasts. Going to watch Kingdom of Heaven this evening - ought to be interesting. Supposed to choose a BSc for my fourth year - choices have to made in the first week of June - I'm not very certain which topic to pursue...

Les jeux sont fait - play on - no turning back - no sir, no indeed - no dice where that one's concerned.

I decided last night to give up. The first ever conscious decision to 'give up' - I don't like doing it, but that's the only way to solve some problems. Sometimes it's the only solution - to stand up and walk away.

Blue and brown today. Dark blue, light blue and chestnut brown. With a folder. It's not good to speculate - no, no, no - it's not. You shouldn't allow your mind to wander into fancifully deranged interpretations of something you hardly know anything about. Stay focused on the mechanisms of septic shock; stay focused on microbial infection; stay focused on the role of coagulopathy in sepsis. Argh. Please, please, please don't smile. I can't walk away. An ensemble of blues and browns is just a passing distraction. Thank goodness it's not all black and white - thank goodness indeed. Let's just whisper a prayer of thanks that blue and brown isn't scented - or I'd probably inhale a whiff of a doomed daydream before losing myself utterly...totally...senselessly...where is logic? Where is reason?

Lost for words

Alright - this is going to be a mundane post.
I'm currently searching for a pied-a-terre in London for the next few years...
The first installment of my attempt at writing 'A by the way guide to hitchhiking' is under review with its co-author.
Review articles are interesting, paprika-flavoured crisps are tasty and today is election day in the UK...and the monster raving loony party haven't a hope of getting through the front door of number 10...

Clearly, (Mostly) Mad. I wonder if staying here is having awfully deleterious sequelae on my expectations. Confirmation helps understanding. Trying zero patience always hinders.

Mamihlapinatapei

More than anything, less than everything, part of something, better than nothing.
This term seems to consist of half-days and off-days...my brain is going to atrophy even before the onset of summer. Not to worry; I have the remedy - but I'm not going to publicise it otherwise I'll sound ridiculously foolish. Ah. Schaddenfreude.
Salt beef tastes better freshly cooked.
I wonder if there's a word to describe that 'sinking' feeling in your chest when you realise a situation is utterly, irredeemably, irrevocably, unquestionably beyond hope of resolution. There are various approaches -
Cull the source / Cure / Prevent further spread and repair current damage. Unfortunately, they don't all/always work; you might trigger an undesirable response. Everything's always such a patchwork of poorly-stitched rags...mamihlapinatapei...if only.

Insulata

I have been told to be more positive, so here goes.

The following is my recurring daydream...it's really quite an awful thought, but you wouldn't be surprised...
In a perfect world, I'd be able to live out my dream of being an internationally renowned infectious disease specialist who gets called to outbreak locations to save the local populace from the latest deadly epidemic of some rare emerging microbial pathogen. Oh yeah...the sheer chutzpah required...I would have this 'aura' about me...
As I stride into the 'war-room' the huddled teams of journalists, investigators, scientists and military top brass would salute me as 'Professor,' hoping to touch my white labcoat for a dint of inspiration as I reach for the red phone and declare 'get me the President - this doesn't look good, folks.' Better still would be my heroic efforts to stem the deadly tide of bioterrorism...
Most importantly, I'd have a bacterium, a virus, a fungus, a parasitic worm, a tic and two diseases (both rare and common) named after me, which would become compulsory examination questions for third year medical students. Less importantly, I'd be knighted, I'd receive the Congressional Medal of Hono(u)r [sic], I'd get a Nobel Prize, I'd be made a freeman of the city of Des Moines, Iowa, I'd receive the Legion d'Honneur (1er classe), I'd be feted and fed.

Wouldn't life be grand...dream on, Jason Ho, dream on...

Just bought a terrific book about untranslatable words, like "ho'ohponopono" and "wabi" - great stuff.

I'm about to go and prepare a sumptuous salad for some overworked (but very de-stressing) people...hurrah.

Fair Play

I think I might have a clue as to what makes the world go round. Unfairness. Yes - unfairness. The gross imbalance between effort and result, load and carriage, appearance and deception. It's all such a tragic mess that threatens to tip us off the planet and launch us head-first into the sun...but no...that doesn't happen. Our miserable lurching into doom and gloom is thwarted - again, by the same thing that threatened to send us into the boiler room in the first place - unfairness. It's unfair to itself by being fair in how unevenly distributed it sometimes (but not always) is. The same sheer unfairness that applauds the undeserving and knocks unconscious those who try and try and try and try - that's the concept that holds our pathetic existences intact.

Quotable quote: When you make an expensive mistake, learn a valuable lesson.

Smile

The hobbits emerged, unscathed from Sauron's tower of doom.
I can breathe again. The air tastes different. The long, long nightmare is finally over and I can go stuff myself with lashings of salt beef. It's very difficult to express how incredibly elated I am. The outcome of the exams is quite another thing, but for the present moment let us just bear in mind that this too, shall pass. For a brief moment one can burst into a spastic fit of joy. Oh my - it's so incredible to be free. Free at last, free at last - Lord Almighty, free at last! Xian ku, hou tian indeed.
My first true smile in months. I could feel it. A massive grin that zipped across the face as time was called for the final time this week. It's nice to be able to breathe properly again. To have a good night's rest and dream about happy things. No more tossing and turning, no more paroxysmal fits of fear. No more hyperphagia. No more 4-litres-of-water-per-day binges. No more microwave plastic box cooking. No more early-afternoon panics.
Longer showers. Less sleep (finally!) No more brain-compressing information gulping. I can finally notice that the trees have sprouted leaves. Green is everywhere. The sky is blue. I'm human. I'm alive - and I'm so, so very glad to be. Living life again.
The sheer excitement is nearly overpowering.
I'm so very charged up for another term...thought I might have a complete mental and physical breakdown immediately after the final paper but for some reason I find myself raring to go - bring it on - whack me in the face...c'mon - ready for a hyperactive spiel all the way until the start of summer - when the brain can FINALLY atrophy. Just another month. Just another month. Then, then - then, we can chill.

The clear and present rumble

The sound of thunder is something I've missed, oddly enough. This summer's return to Singapore shall certainly find me skulking on the balcony as I await the first thunderstorm after my return. That crackling in the sky as a bolt of sound drops before the imminent pattering of rain. A tropical thunderblast, I'd say, is something I'd give half a chocolate brownie for.

I want to go whitewater rafting this summer. Somewhere - anywhere. Somewhere spectacular would be nice. It wouldn't be much of a change from my present situation - sitting within a confined space, gazing ahead as I manoeuvre my arms in a vain attack on waves crashing over, overwhelming both mind and body in a relentless assault as my heart struggles to keep pace with the glucose rush demanded by the overworked brain. Did I mention trying to avoid drowning?

I've just seen a streak of lightning - that's the downside to the thunderstorm - almost forgot that. Cosy indoors; having a chat with Messrs Rang, Dale, Ritter and Moore.

RIP JPII

Terribly terribly sad news. Let us just be glad that he is with the Lord. Incredibly distressing. The man is truly great. Will be greatly missed. A truly inspirational life. Very sad.

"They had a world to build..."

Horace: 'Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero'...or something like that. Splendid stuff, but a little over-quoted.
Posting an advert for anybody who can do a lovely BIG BAMBI EYES impression. I'll buy (a cheap) lunch for the winner...BIG BAMBI EYES. Cutesy...yes, lovely bambi eyes.

Speaking of eyes - have you every wondered at the little miracle of non-verbal communication? Sometimes you can almost 'feel' somebody else's emotion beating with each pounding pulsation of their heart. Every grimace, every glance - it shows.
When you brighten somebody's day take a moment to reflect on how that transient interaction with another human being just affected you... the 'blessing' reflects back and does a double-whammy - hey presto, you've just done yourself a good turn. Gosh, I'm so full of it....you'd think a bore would know when to stop...but a boar doesn't...

Everybody get an ISA. Now. It's good for you. If you don't know what I mean, drop me an email and I'll explain...

The Pope. Bless him. Lovely octagenarian, a polished theologian in his heyday. The general consensus seems to be that he's a poor old man pushing himself through unnecessary suffering; he's hardly 'in charge' anyway. No matter. I can't help but admire the man's utter dedication, senseless though some might think it. DICTUM MEUM PACTUM. His word - his bond. The commitment to the very end, through good and bad, in sickness and health.
Logic dictates that old people who have had joint replacements, gunshot wounds, Parkinson's disease, recurrent chest infections and tracheostomies should be convalescing in a hospice. I'm not a Catholic but there's one thing most human beings seem to agree upon - a promise is a promise. I know that we often absolve ourselves/others of duties and obligations (for medics: see 'Sick Role'). Sure, he could just be a stubborn old man clinging to the faintest vesper of 'dignity' that comes from his official infallibility. Or - it could just be plain old senility. Many of us (most likely myself included) would take 'the sensible way out' - I'm just glad he's there to show 'most of us' that a promise, once made, ought to be kept. Whether 'sto lat' rings true for JPII or he hangs up the zuchetto tomorrow, some applause, admiration and prayers for the health of a courageous, humble and truly doggedly determined person are certainly long overdue.

Addendum

BBC NEWS | Magazine | A Point of View
This chap writes infinitely better prose than my smattering of thought-droppings.
Read well.

Polar opposite or befuddled extremist?

Before I give blogging a break for a while, I think I ought to write a 'proper' post. The past few (from Main en griffe onwards) have been lumps of trite nonsense typed during my periods of R&R this past week.
Here's a thought that coalesced while I struggled (manfully, may I add; successfully, too) to spread a non-fitted sheet over my bed.

I've had quite a few arguments/diatribes about 'ethics' with various people. I think I'm generally a non-confrontational sort of person. I prefer to extract an opinion and find the best way of agreeing with the truth I can find in it, even if the crux runs counter to all my prevailing thoughts. My conscience dictates, however, that I expunge my brain of this filth right now - so here goes.

These are my opinions. They'll probably change someday. I don't apologise - I tolerate and I expect the same of others.

I have often found myself trying to take a stand in the 'middle ground' of an argument; comparing my views to those of others I (somewhat generously) declare myself a 'conservative liberal' (balderdash, I know - but give and take a little, c'mon). Let's look at pre-implantation genetic diagnosis (yada-yada-yada - here we go again). Would I allow it? Yes, but only for certain circumstances. So the conservatives and liberals alike slam my views as 'inconsistent.' The con declares I've betrayed my religious Christian principles, I've 'done a Judas' on absolute truth and descended into the moral abyss of post-modern relativism. The lib claims likewise that he's sickened by my narrow-minded willingness to cling to irrationally maintained 'ethical' standards that discriminate and cause hurt. So they've both spouted that I'm a neolithic throwback to an extremist era. Hmm...
Let's see. I'd allow a couple to choose a non-Huntington's foetus if one parent was diagnosed (pre-symptomatically) with the disease. If there was a treatment, I'd prefer that; I still believe that life begins at conception - c'mon, you can mutter on about neural self-awareness but at the end of the day it starts somewhere. (Yes, a simplification - I'm not getting into the whole Pope thing about spilling of seed). Put it down to my 'rigid' Christian belief. Yet practically I'd still allow you to 'select' a foetus - doesn't that run counter to my 'absolute' standard of faith? Yes, it does. I'm flawed - I'm human - I sin - I know. The con now mentions that I'm deliberately, knowingly, intentionally sinning (no quote-marks around 'sin' this time). Sure - so why do it?

E-M-P-A-T-H-Y. As I said before - I'm human. The good, kind, benevolent Lord did not give us medical technology just so we could use karyotyping to design wallpapers - we ought not to use all technological advances willy-nilly just to turn the earth into smithereens for our own amusement but, where we can eliminate suffering - we should try our darndest. It sounds like such tripe, but that's why I'm hanging on to this crazed idea of becoming a doctor. So I can give every OUNCE into doing something that will (hopefully) cure more than kill. Just imagine the couple who are told that they will have to raise a child who will one day grow up to have a disease that will kill him in his forties. Then imagine you're that couple. Then imagine you're that child. You could say that you would 'stoically' (the lib) accept your lot; you could say that God will grant you peace and blessings, that at least you haven't tried to 'play God' (the con) - either way, you're gonna die at forty-four. Now, feel some pain. You wouldn't want it to happen to you, so would you do it to anybody else? Life's too short - why shorten it? Life is precious. Now the con yells that I'm taking life in my quest to 'play God' and seek an immoral standard of perfection for the parents. 'No goal should warrant the bludgeoning of THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT upon the altar of moral relativism and wishful thinking, no matter how altruistic the objective.' The con can't comprehend my sheer arrogance and paternalism; my utter disregard for the absolute commandment.

No, I don't attach different standards of 'value' to a Huntington's versus a non-Huntington's life. Then again, NO - I don't see any reason to NOT cure the condition - you wouldn't ever say that the good Lord placed Vibrio cholerae on his good earth just so that humankind would learn to to live with the demonstration of his mighty power? You see, the good Lord thankfully gave us mere humans the gift of an intellect that discovered antibiotics and oral rehydration therapy. We can cure. So we should cure. Until then, let us ease some pain in the lives of others. It is not a sin to save - discarding IV foetuses (con) is indirect murder; I recognise it. The lib screams: IF YOU DIDN'T HAVE THIS BELIEF YOU WOULDN'T HAVE TO BOTHER YOUR LITTLE MIND WITH SUCH TRIVIA AND YOU COULD JUST GET ON WITH SAVING THE LIFE!!! The lib's got his merits, but the motivation would then be lost.
I disagree with taking life (unless it's annoying and crawls on six legs or buzzes with a sting and doesn't deliver honey). I'm NOT a vegetarian - I love meat. We are not here to 'play God' but central to my personal belief and motivation is what I like to call 'the divine hand' (committing philosophical suicide, he continues)...
Life is a precious gift. It seems that I would allow a procedure that seems to violate one of my ethical/religious standards just to qualify a different one; back to square one. A lib or a con? By whose standards? A fence sitter or a fence-crusher (under his own weight, mind you - barbed wire is painful). I'm still caught in the middle, against a wall, with both sides pushing me down two sides of very slippery slopes.

I know I've blundered through some pretty hypocritical statements above - forgive me. The question must be asked; I would allow the procedure (before a cure is found - trust me - it'll happen some day - give it time - everything happens) - would I ever do the same for myself? Now we can bring ABORTION and EUTHANASIA into the picture. Oh goody! Hurrah! Harrumph. No. No. No. Another day. Another time.

Magyar Templom

The great Easter shutdown has begun; the exodus of happy Britons leaving their (already sunny) shores for (slightly too) sunny climes (e.g. slightly further along the M4) always amuses me. Every year, drive in, drive out. Why leave when the weather's just getting warmer? Oh yes - don't shut the country down - I wanted to go for a swim today - the one day this side of Christmas they decide to shut the pool. Argh.
A bright yellow sign attached to a streetlamp outside my flat directs unwary pedestrians to a nearby 'Magyar Templom' - code for 'Secret gathering of endocrinologists attempting to take over the world by squirting everybody with several billion milligrams of troglitazone.' Or, rather, 'Hungarian church' - for those in the know.
We are all like small tubes of pasta (Penne), floating in a saucepan...then somebody lights a flame. It suddenly starts to feel nice and warm. Oh - look! Bubbles! Let's relax and float around. Hang on a second - ouch - argh - that's - ack. Before long, encased and buried 6mm under chicken and pesto. The moral of the story? Notice the small things, like 'Magyar Templom' before it's too late and life boils over.

Lunatic

Have you ever felt the urge to howl at the moon? Trust me - it's there. I was just stunned by the sheer brilliance and (for want of a better word) roundness of the moon this evening - utterly gobsmacked. So round, so perfect; its silvery sheen casting a spell over me - so I begin to sing...'When the night has come and the land is dark and the moon is the only light we'll see...no I won't be afraid - no I won't be afraid - just as long as you stand, stand by me...' The moonlight is enchanting. I tend to notice it quite often but tonight's warranted some firm blog-raving about the beauty of the moon. Entranced.

Ho hum, Hobbits hanging on.

It's that time of year again - I get the old LOTR-longing. Don't quite know what to make of it - delaying the 12-hour-20-minute continuous viewing of the extended edition DVDs for the post-exam haze. Still, the soundtrack playing in the background is enough to make me wish I was 'back' in Middle-Earth. Crazy nutter.

Aeschylus (yes, I think he's the one who was killed by a falling tortoise dropped by an eagle mistaking his bald head for a stone) once said:
"There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief."
At least that's what the (hopefully reliable, woefully 'unhopeful') website claims.
I have practically nothing to complain about, realistically - I'm well provided for (at least I think so), I have a loving family (at least I remember), good friends (at least I believe so), a roof over my head and an expensive education.
What happy memories can I conjure up? I know that I confabulate a lot - but there's no need for that now. In reverse chronological order:

1) Hitchhiking last summer - enjoying the journey as much as the destination. Utter peace in the hubbub; taking everything in moderate excess.
2) Lazing about on the porch of my uncle's house in Ipoh, Malaysia last summer as tropical winds blew in a monsoon to cool the scorching heat.
3) Watching the calm waves break on the beach of a Maldivian island on my 18th birthday. Bliss.
The list goes on. So much to be grateful for. Why would one want more? Simply because there is more to be had? I don't really know, to be honest. Thankfully one doesn't forget that oh-so-very-important-emotional-modulator:
"This too, shall pass."
I have dallied long enough and time (like that ocean tide I find such bliss in recalling) is passing me by...