january book and film review

In what will become a monthly feature, I now offer a list of books read and films seen (for the first time) in January.

BOOKS-

THE SUMMONS AND THE KING OF TORTS, BY JOHN GRISHAM. I promised myself an "easy" book after the rigours of Ulysses, and these were they. Grisham is a good story teller who possesses that seductive skill of making the reader feel intelligent, which is one reason he is so marketable. But I needn't go there again.
3 TALES, BY GUSTAVE FLAUBERT. 2 of them have received less than fulsome praise over the years, but "A Simple Tale", the story of a chambermaid's life is an almost perfect jewel- one of the best short stories ever written.
DUBLINERS, BY JAMES JOYCE. 14 beautifully wrought tales of Irish lives. Many of the characters appear later in his greatest work.

FILMS-

THAT OBSCURE OBJECT OF DESIRE, D- LUIS BUNUEL. (1973) When Bunuel's good, he's fantastic, and when he's poor (and this isn't his greatest work), he's still pretty good.
MADAGASCAR (2005)D- ERID DAMELL. mainstream family entertainment; moderately enjoyable animation.
THE DAY THE EARTH STOOD STILL (remake) (2008)D- SCOTT DERRICKSON- appalling, talentless crap. One thing I did like though: in this film, unlike the first, it becomes clear why the aliens threaten the Earth with destruction: Keanu spells out that it's the humans he's after, so that the planet itself may be saved. "Only a few planets are capable of supporting complex life, and we cannot allow it to be destroyed" I did like that.
COALMINER'S DAUGHTER- ((1980) D- MICHAEL APTED. Cissy Spacek rightly won an Oscar for her highly authentic portrayal of country music legend Loretta Lynn.
SAVE THE LAST DANCE ((2001) d- THOMAS CARTER. Julia Stiles launched her career with this film which proved popular, but IS actually pretty pedestrian.
PHANTOM OF LIBERTY (1974)D-LUIS BUNUEL. The great magician back to his best form, with a film that is funny, subversive and deeply disturbing from start to finish.
LAKEVIEW TERRACE ((2008)D- NEIL LA BUTE. High production values, but the writing just isn't there to make it in any way memorable.

quest for the lost files

Today my wife and I engage in an exciting, but ultimately fruitless search through the net to retrieve the deleted photos. We accessed a couple of sites entitled "undeleting deleted files" or words to that effect, and duly downloaded programmes in a desperate attempt to pluck them back from the abyss of eternal darkness. We downloaded something onto a memory stick in the process, but were then unable to then access these files. I shall make one last effort next week when I shall take my laptop to PC World and call upon their help- this despite the scepticism of a friend, who poured scorn on that idea by pronouncing the level of their advice as "crap" We shall see.

As a change of pace we go out on a brilliantly sunny afternoon to plan our new kitchen. Will it be hand-made oak or mass produced pine?. The guy will send us a detailed price list next week which will doubtless help us make up our minds.

blair blah

This is not primarily a political blog, as readers may have noticed. However, I feel I must comment on today's proceedings at the QE2 conference centre. This is a big deal, and is probably being picked up by broadcasters around the world as I write. Anyone hoping for some new insights will be disappointed, I suspect, and should be upbraided for their naivitee. Blair was an experienced barrister years before he ever became an MP, and he's had 10 years of practice fending off far more skilled inquisitors than he's had to deal with today.

For me the now notorious "dodgy dossier" is the key. Mostly written by a PhD student relying more heavily on (malinformed) opinion than hard facts, it cited Saddam's gas attacks on the residents of Al Halabja in 1988 as one of the best reasons for bringing his regime to an end. But there WAS a war to sort this out, and it was in 1991. How come they needed another shot to sort this out, 12 years later? As for the WMDs, I'm sorry Tony, but I think you knew this was crap at the time, and that you did indeed mislead parliament and the British people by suggesting they were a real threat. You even mentioned oil as one of the motivations this morning, though it was not taken up as it should have been. I'm sure you were told by "W" that if Britain didn't co-operate we could kiss goodbye to any vestiges of the "special relationship", which in itself was only some fond fantasy dreamed up by Winston Churchill just after the end of World War 2. What about France, which was doubtless cast into the outer darkness by the US after their unsportsmanlike refusal to go along with the invasion? Doesn't seem to have done them too much harm..

I see the shrink

Up to the hospital again, this time for my bi-monthly appointment with my psychiatrist. Though I was quite open with him, I did not disclose everything to him. In my position this would not be wise. For he has a dual role; therapeutic, and then the darker motive of monitoring my "fitness to practice". I do not wish to implode what remains of my career in medicine, which thus far has been more or less unblemished. Indeed, I would not recommend anyone to divulge all their secrets to any one person for fear of dire consequences further down the line. Moreover, I believe it is vital to one's ego preservation to maintain at least part of their lives secret from everyone.

But I did tell him of my two stupid mistakes, and also of my difficult day yesterday (see previous blog) All in all, a satisfactory consultation.

the lost boy

I thought I'd be OK today. Never really gave it a thought. Then I had to sign and date a prescription and there it was: 27th January: my dead son's birthday. He would have been 23. Where would he be now? I wondered. Travelling perhaps; he loved that, or living in America, his favourite country. But where is he now? Returned to the Universe, I suppose, from whence he came. Funny thing: I still wonder where he is sometimes, even think I see him in the street. You'd think the denial component of grief would have faded by now, but it doesn't work that way.

I look over to a picture of him hanging on the wall. Taken in a water-park in Tenerife when he was about 8, he's looking close to tears because he was enjoying himself so much, he didn't want to go home, which we were due to do the following day. A doctor signs dozens of prescriptions every day, and on each one, there is the date to remind me, as if I needed any.

doctor as patient

This morning I make my way to the trauma clinic to consult my favourite orthopod about my shoulder injury. 8 weeks ago I was attempting (in front of my wife) to demonstrate what I believe is called a "power press", that move in which one performs a press-up so energetically that one leaves the ground for long enough to clap the hands together, but singularly failed to do so, crashing down onto my right shoulder.

I gave it what is usually considered to be a reasonable period of time in which to heal, but, this being to no avail, sought advice from an old friend. It is 5 years since I last saw him (on that occasion for a knee cartilage problem) and my first thought was that time had not been good to him. Perhaps he thought the same about me. Having examined me, a process which elicited more pain than I have experienced since its inception, he concluded (as had I)that it was probably a minor rotator cuff tear and made me feel a lot better by suggesting that it might not require an operation (with my smoker's lungs I have good reason to fear a general anaesthetic)and that it might heal by itself given a few months. But I will need an MRI to be sure.

On the weather front, my barograph (a gift from a generous patient) today registers 32.25", the highest pressure I have recorded in the nearly 4 years it has been in my possession. In summer this would mean glorious warmth and unbroken blue skies, but in winter it more often spells monotonous grey days and freezing nights. No snow is forecast, however.

fart (Def): wind from the anus

This morning in surgery, a young man brings a complaint, not from him, but from his girlfriend:
"She's saying that every time I turn over in bed I break wind and what are you going to do about it?"
This complaint goes into the category of "things I've never encountered in general practice before" You might think that 36 years after qualifying this would be a rare occurrence, but no, I encounter a situation I've never seen before about once a fortnight. I consider for a long moment, then respond:
"I'd say it was normal to release gas on changing position, so tell your girlfriend not to worry about it"
I'm fairly sure this will not satisfy her, but it's the best I can do. But as an afterthought I suggest he might want to steer clear of the (well known) gas producing foods, beans, etc.

I heard yesterday that Lord Hutton, he of the David Kelly enquiry, is to seal all details of his post mortem findings for 70 years. Now, the government knew he was a safe pair of hands when they picked him, but here he must have exceeded even their expectations. Isn't it now clear that that information would reveal that Kelly did not in fact commit suicide, but rather was indeed murdered by agents of the state determined not to allow him to reveal details of how the notorious "dodgy dossier" was sexed up?. My question is rhetorical. Of course it bloody is.

london calling part deux

A quick rundown of our itinerary:
Friday night- went to see Alan Bennett's new play "A Habit of Art" at the National. Centring around an imagined meeting between WH Auden and Benjamin Britten that might have taken place in 1972, it is a highly polished, professional performance, as we might expect. Alan is always funny, irreverent and often deeply insightful, though this time it seemed to me he wasn't quite sure how to end it. Biggest laugh:
Auden (to visitor): Are you the rent boy I ordered?
Humphrey Carpenter (Auden's biographer): Good God no! I'm from the BBC!

Saturday morning, to Westminster Abbey (see yesterday's blog)One of Britain's greatest buildings for sure, the highlight being for me Henry VII's chapel. I made sure to find both Auden's and Britten's plaques. How to get a plaque there?. An OM seems to help, as does a CH, so Britten, with both, was presumably a shoe-in.

Saturday afternoon: to the RA to see their new exhibition "Van Gogh: the artist and his letters" The letters were certainly fascinating, sometimes adorned with delightfully drawn "croquis" (cartoons) but ultimately it was the pictures that spoke most eloquently.

Saturday evening: A meal at Kai, rumoured to be the best Chinese restaurant in London. The meal (I stayed safe with chicken and and spring onions with black bean sauce) was indeed excellent, but I couldn't take my eyes off a nearby party; clearly Russians, three men, all dressed identically in black leather, all sporting improbably gorgeous young women. They all ordered Peking duck and the Krug flowed early and often. My wife's verdict on them : boringly predictable.

Sunday morning: to the city to climb the Monument. I haven't done this for nearly 50 years, though I remember the occasion still. I had forgotten the details of the astonishing view, though it's probably almost unrecognisable half a century on.

Returning home, we find ourselves unburgled. A good weekend.

london calling

I'd better be quick as you only get 15 free minutes on the hotel's computer. The hotel itself is pretty fancy: the soap is called a "cleansing bar"

Last night outside the National Portrait Gallery I discarded a cigarette butt which unfortunately caught the hem of a woman's coat. She accosted me in an immaculate patrician accent:
"Do you realise what you've just done?" and proceeded to explain in acid tones.
I stammered my apologies, and she ended with:
"Well, just don't let it happen again"
Suitably dressed down, I cringed with mortification for many minutes.

This morning, wandering around Westminster Abbey for the first time in many years, I am admonished several times not to take photos. One, a little more aggressive than the others, said: "There's a big sign right by the entrance "
I responded: "Ah yes, at the place where you pay £15 to get in?"
He didn't seem too pleased, but his female colleaugue standing next to him couldn't help cracking a broad grin.

glasses disaster

Even though they are tucked just under the bed in order to avoid just this kind of catastrophe, on bringing breakfast my wife still manages to step on them. Built from the most modern materials, its thin wires are supposed to have a "memory", which will restore their shape if distorted. It would seem, however, that a certain degree of force will bring about "metallic amnesia" and I find them bent hopelessly out of shape. Suddenly deprived of proper eyesight I am still able to see red. I start screaming and shouting, throwing things about; in so doing terrifying both my wife and the cats with the sheer intensity of my rage. Within an hour the problem is fixed by my optician, but a cloud has covered the sun of this day which will take many hours to pass.

While waiting for the opticians to open I distract myself with the extraordinary tale of the life of James Elroy, as told on "Desert Island Discs" A man who doesn't own a mobile phone, television or even a computer, he describes his favourite activity as "sitting in the dark, brooding quietly". At this moment, I identify with him completely.

avatar schmavatar

On the eve of setting out to see James Cameron's new blockbuster, my wife and I suddenly came to the same decision: not to bother. And that given its IMAX/3D format and its $300 million pricetag. Or perhaps indeed, because of that. What I want to see on IMAX is something non fiction like tornadoes or the ascent of Everest, and what I want to see in 3D is.. pretty much nothing at all. It's an overrated format that might have been fun when that version of "The Creature from the Black Lagoon" came out in the 1950s, but is a bit tired and passe now. And as for the pricetag- well, it's somehow a little obscene. That sum represents considerably more than what it cost to make every picture Fellini ever made. And then some.

So we'll go and see "An Education" instead, though now I find it's been taken off the mainstream cinemas here after a very short run.

OK, we'll watch our latest LoveFilm offering instead- "Coalminer's Daughter"

a simple #

Last week I was asked to see an old lady in an OPH. The problem was a stiff and painful wrist. "Could it be gout?" offered the care assistant. "Nobody's reported a fall, and she says she hasn't hurt herself" she went on. On examination there was indeed no apparent swelling, but the wrist would not permit even the slightest movement without a yelp of pain from the patient. Reluctantly I advised the home to take her up to A and E where she could be X rayed. I hate doing this, because an upheaval like this can have a highly deleterious effect on a very old, very frail person; sometimes even kill them. But as I said to the carer, "just because there's no history of injury, doesn't mean there wasn't one" I noted, not the first time, that it is rather cruel of God's grand design that, while mental faculties fade with age, the appreciation of pain does not.

Today I rang the home concerning another patient and enquired about the former one.
"You were right, doctor. She did have a fracture" There was a slight note of awe and admiration in her voice.
"Good God, you mean I actually got something right? I suppose it's bound to happen every now and then, just on the law of averages"

dream on

My own mind, with which I normally enjoy such friendly relations, is starting to annoy me. Last night, just as my bereaved friend will almost certainly dream of her lost husband magically restored to life and health, I dreamed that I discovered my lost pictures hiding in some obscure file. This is ridiculous. In my waking moments, I keep thinking of images I have lost irretrievably; a nice shot of the Brussells Atomium rising out of the mist, or the last shot, a crew of de-icers working on the wings of our aircraft: beautifully back-lit, that one was. letting go is one of the hardest things we humans are required to do. In the days when I was heavily committed to my meditation practice, I have to say I found it a lot easier.

All I can console myself with is the knowledge that grief, however profound (or trivial) its object, eventually fades.

flies undone

Midway through my afternoon surgery I went to relieve myself and discovered to my horror that my flies were down. Not just down, but broken. How long had I been embarrassing myself? I wondered. Few patients (though some might have been assertive enough) would have had the audacity to mention it. For the remainder of the session I kept my pullover pulled down to its maximum extent, and made sure to keep my legs crossed.

Later in the same surgery, more embarrassment when I asked a patient how his smoking cessation was going. He answered by asking me in my turn if I was still smoking. Normally I have a smart-Alec response along the lines of:
"I ask about your habits because I am your doctor. I discuss my habits with my own doctor"
This wouldn't wash with this guy, however. I've known him, socially as well as professionally for nearly twenty years; it was he who enhanced my life by introducing me to ambient music in the early 90s. So I had to come clean and admit I was still on 30 a day

I remembered late last night that there was one photo from my "lost reel" still in existence; the one I had sent as an attachment to a friend. As it was one of the best, I shall make a large print and put it in an elaborate frame. A kind of memorial to the lost ones, you see.

www.deletedwhiledrunk.co.stupid

Yesterday, admittedly whilst in a state of some intoxication, I somehow managed to delete all the photos I took on a recent visit to the low countries. Over a hundred images lost, about ten of them really quite good ones. Distraught, I ask my wife, who is more computer savvy than myself, to see if she can recover them. She tries valiantly for nearly an hour, but finally, exasperated with my moping and sighing, the snaps at me:
"You're surly, peevish and self-centred and I don't know why I even bother trying to help you. All you've done is lose some photos and you're acting like your baby died"

I stump off for a walk round the park, often helpful in enabling me to organise my thoughts coherently. Oddly, I find myself thinking things like: Wait! Maybe they fell behind the CD cabinet. That's where I found the last thing I'd been searching for, after all. So it is a bit like grief then, right down to the denial.

Moral: don't empty your recycle bin while drunk: you could live to regret it.

death and ulysses

Earlier in the week, I had arranged to meet a friend of mine at a nearby coffee shop to discuss a subject of great mutual interest: our love of Joyce's great masterpiece, "Ulysses". She had inspired me to give it one more crack at reading it all the way through, having made two failed attempts earlier in my life. Yesterday she confirmed the date, but added the caviat that her husband had been admitted to hospital. I sent her a supportive email, which included the words:
"I know you can have faith in the clever doctors at the hospital who are extremely skilled in dealing with his problems"
This morning I get an email from the darling lady saying he had died in the night of "unexpected complications". My wife and I are stunned. She is an even closer friend of my Joyce fan than I am. All day, both of us have been in a sort of daze, our minds constantly returning to the thunderbolt and the plight of our dear friend.
Most unsettling is the knowledge of the words I used in my email, and of their terrible irony.

films and catastophes

I saw a young female patient this morning studying "performance and film" at UMIST. I asked her who her favourite (and still working) director was. She was reluctant to give me a name (if asked the same question, without thinking too hard I would probably have cited Woody Allen), so instead I asked her what was the best film she had seen in 2009. Straight away she came up with "The Red Shoes". I find this a good foil to complaints that "young people" don't know a good film when they see one (having been not best encouraged the last time I asked a "young person", allegedly a film buff, what was the best film he had ever seen, and he came up with the answer "V for Vendetta" FYI, it's a load of crap.

Last night (courtesy of LoveFilm) we watched "The Cabinet of Dr Caligari". The last time I saw it was nearly 40 years ago at my university film club yet I vividly recall its electrifying impact. And even now, nearly a hundred years after it was made, it has lost none of its originality and horrific power. Comedy note: just as it started I began to fiddle with the aspect controls "to make sure we can see the subtitles" My wife had to point out gently "You do know it was made in 1919?"

On a darker note, I sent a cheque to the Appeal for Haiti this morning. If someone on my income can't help the poor buggers out, who can? There was a story on "The Today Programme" describing how the homeless and desperate survivors of the earthquake had actually resorted to constructing road blocks from corpses in a kind of last-ditch protest at the tardiness of the rescue response. If it is true, then this is one of the most terrible stories I have ever heard. I understand the US is to take a leading role in organising the response, which I imagine will not fill the Haitian people with any great optimism. After all, they couldn't even organise proper help for their own people in their own home grown disaster not so long ago..

the little epidemic that wasn't

Last May the World Health Organisation downgraded their criteria for a pandemic from a "world-wide serious transmissible infection" to a "world-wide transmissible infection" Thus H1N1, clearly not even as serious as the annual seasonal flu, was upgraded to the status of pandemic. Why did this happen? Could it have been the furious lobbying carried out by the multinational drug companies who manufacture the vaccines and antivirals?

The government, anxious not to be accused of dropping the ball, launched an unprecedented campaign of "protection" for its people. Now GPs are being asked to immunise even healthy children between 6 months and 5 years (they did at least drop their plans to immunise everybody) But if I am asked my advice in the surgery, I say not to bother. There has not been enough testing in children to justify a small benefit for a relatively unknown risk.

My problem: if this is what they're going to do for a relatively minor "pandemic" what are they going to do for a genuinely serious one- like if H5N1 makes the cross-over into a human form? Because then we'll really have a huge problem on our hands, one that could kill millions in Britain alone. Let's hope the human race stays lucky..

an unpleasant moment

Off to the undertakers to collect some ash cash. As usual, lying on the counter in the front office, the cheque is waiting for me; as usual with the payee's name left blank. In an unending ritual, I offer it politely to the secretary and ask her to fill in my name.
"To make it more official, like", I say lightly. As always with a friendly smile, she complies. I fold it in four and tuck it in my right-hand back pocket. Then I am gently ushered into the morgue to earn my money.

I am offered rubber gloves, appropriately in black, and then an ancient creature is produced for my inspection from what appears to be a giant filing cabinet. What is there to say? The body is very old, and rather obviously dead. For one thing, it is ice cold, which is never a good sign. I draw back the shroud and take a closer look, skin colour, obvious external lesions and so on. I ask the attendant to turn the body for me.
"Just to make sure there isn't a knife sticking in his back" I quip.

Job done, I make my way back to the office to complete my part of the certificate authorising a cremation. There I find another of my breed, doubtless there for a similar purpose to my own. We know each other slightly. I stand next to him at the counter as I fill in my form. I notice a cheque lying next to me. Something makes me pick it up, but in an instant it is deftly snatched from my hand by the doctor. The secretary laughs nervously, and I join in, muttering something like "Curses! Nearly got away with it" The moment passes and the atmosphere returns to normal. I finish filling in the form quickly, and make my exit, not before giving my colleague brief eye contact and bidding him goodbye.

Back in the car I am fuming with rage. How rude! Snatching it like that like some twelve-year-old oik. Couldn't he have just looked up and said quietly, "I think that's mine"? Hours later I work out why I had picked it up, knowing that my own cheque was in my back pocket. I think it was because I wanted to see if they had filled his name in or not. Whatever, it was a dumb thing to do and I burn with shame and humiliation for the rest of the day. I struggle to let the issue go and move on. Finally I console myself. If I boo-booed, I did at least cover it as well as I could have given the circumstances. But I shall remember this day. Will they, I wonder?

13.01.2010- the blog begins

This is my first venture into the strange and wonderful world of the world wide web. I propose to make 365 posts, daily as far as I can manage. In it I will speak candidly about my life and work as a full time NHS GP in his last year of full time work prior to my retirement on my 60th birthday in January 2011.

From time to time I shall comment on current events. Please forgive any political naivitee.

I hereby give an undertaking to present myself as honestly as possible, with a minimum of cant or self justification. I will speak of patient encounters, which if they ever come to read this will find themselves disguised to ensure their anonymity. Similarly I have given myself a pseudonym in case the General Medical Council ever gets to hear of it. But everything you read in my posts will be the truth. I take my inspiration from the great diary of Samuel Pepys, still in my opinion the greatest diarist who ever lived. His diary, also secret, was noted for its candour and unashamed honesty. I cannot aspire to his literary heights, but I can at least do my best to follow in his exalted footsteps.
Now read on...