Odds And Sods

Ruminations...

Struggle on, trying to finish some work related research, revise, generally live my life. It goes slowly; I think I'd be good as a sloth. Although not sure I'd pass the entrance exam.

La Belle Fille continues to understand, which is good of her; spent the weekend hanging out, which is good for the soul; I also had the pleasure of seeing possibly the world's biggest round of cheese at the local French market. God love the French.

A brief flag for NotDrRant. This blog has a very different spin on the NHS; a patient's view, and not a complimentary one. I'm in favour of free speech, so you should feel free to check them out, tho' I don't hold with their take on the causes of the faults ( to whit, it's all the doctor's fault. ) That having sad, the author doesn't seem to have been served very well by the NHS.

It raises at least one interesting point. (For a certain value of the word 'interesting') While patients can, almost without fear of censure or repercussion, write what they want about the medical profession, or indeed specific members therof, the medical profession has little, or no, right of reply. So, there is little to stop Mr Smith naming me as, for example, "a cunt", for all the world to read. But if I name Mr Smith as, for example, a wife-beating kiddie-fiddler... the Law has me by the balls.

On balance, I'm in favour of confidentiality. Publishing lists of naughty people all too often results in hysteria, and Paediatricians having their houses shit-bombed; but shouldn't there be some sort of quid pro quo? As a medical professional, I must be completely transparent; I accept this. I must also be inscrutable; I accept this, too.

But should there be some sort of checks and balances to stop my being compared to reproductive anatomy?

On Politics

It's mostly bollocks, let's be honest.



La Belle Fille has been away, I have been moping. Drank far too much yesterday, celebrating a friend's impending wedding; have to work today, which obviously I am very pleased about...



Was paid a sort of backhanded compliment by a neurosurgeon the other day, when they opined that I broke bad news well. I suppose if you're going to ruin a family's day, you should do it well, but I can't help but feel it's a sad thing to be good at.