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.