Samuel Johnson? Pah!

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So here I am in Jersey once again – for the last time. Yippee! Now, you may be wondering what poor Jersey has done to deserve this, seeing that loads of people come here on holiday and have a lovely time. Dear Jersey, it’s not you, it’s me.

When you speak with someone who travels abroad a lot for their work, it always sounds so glamorous and fun but they seem so blasé  about it. Trust me, it’s because it’s a pain in the patoot. To begin with, I spent 2 hours sitting on the tarmac at Gatwick as the planes queued up to leave. The computer assigning the crews to push off the planes had broken down, blah de de blah blah. See how boring that is already? Welcome to my world. No, we couldn’t get off the plane to go back to the terminal, no, they couldn’t serve any drinks or food whilst on the ground, Airport Authority regulations, but we could have water if we wanted it. Whoop de doo. Then the couple next to me ( I had the window seat, exit door) started with the PDAs and I thought, “What fresh hell is this?” Luckily they were a) really nice, and b) managed to restrain  themselves so I resisted the urge to rip open the emergency door and throw myself on the tarmac. Nevertheless, following the debacle of the last trip to Guernsey (8-hour delay, anyone?) I had already turned down all offers of working abroad and this latest jamboree totally solidified that decision. I am so sick of living out of a suitcase, I can’t even begin to tell you. Even the fab views from my hotel room (see above), has not made a dent in my horror at the prospect of future trips.

Luckily, I had a brainful of poetry to amuse myself with or I would have lost it on the plane due to a potent mix of hypoglycaemia and sheer boredom. Fill your head with poetry, you never know when you’ll need it. An example of a  poem that kept me going:

This sketch has been composed to tell, the miracle about the cell.

Relating to a special trick,

It performs in arithmetic.

So gaze upon its humble size, and think how, when it multiplies,

It solves with effortless precision,

A major problem in division.

When a man is tired of Gatwick, it’s a sign of excellent taste. And the pictures of the Gatwick Airport? Boring, aren’t they? That was my view for 2 hours; why should I suffer alone? To quote Ogden Nash in Seaside mode:

You can share my jellyfish,

I am not sellyfish. 🙂

Have a peaceful, landlubbing week.

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It’s true! Or is it?

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It’s Monday and it’s my solemn mission to give my readers a headache. I’ve been musing about the content of this particular blog over the last few weeks. Being a pharmacist, I’m used to reading any number of spurious claims made by scientists in a bid to big up their research and attract funding– Cancer will be cured in 5 years, 10 years, 15 years etc etc. The latest article I read claimed in its headline that scientists could now explain NDEs ( near-death experiences: lights, floating, the tunnel, finding yourself in paradise or being dragged off to hell by scary monsters etc etc).  Do I need to tell you that having read the actual text, scientists have zero clue about NDEs? Of course not. What they can  do is trigger some aspects of it, not all, in some people, not all,  through oxygen deprivation in the lungs and the brain. They’ve been able to do that since the 80s, so epic fail all round. Another non-story.

It made me think of all the other ‘facts’ we believe in good faith, the belief in which can have serious consequences for us:

  • No two fingerprints are the same. Really? Who checked all 10 x 7 billion on earth. The odds may be small but is it absolute zero? Would you bet your murder trial on it? Exactly! Anyway, Paul Simon says he’s checked and they’re all the same, so there 🙂
  • No two snowflakes are identical. Really? Maternal (monozygotic) twins are identical in all respects, down to their DNA. It is now claimed that you can tell them apart by searching for mutations in their DNA but you would have to run their entire genomes, all 3.2 billion base pairs, and examine each base pair, hoping to find a mutation that coincides with your sample. Of course, every cell in the human body is in a state of change, so is the genome sample from last month identical to one you run this month?Er, dunno. Monozygotic twins do have non-identical fingerprints, or so we are assured. Please see above……
  • If a system as complex as a human being can be replicated exactly, is it really true that something as relatively simple as crystallised water molecules is never, ever replicated? There are approximately one billion snowflakes in each cubic foot of snow alone. Now think of Antarctica…… Of course, what scientists actually say is that it’s improbable that two snowflakes would be identical. What we hear is that two snowflakes can never be identical
  • Gravity. Proven constant force? Er, no. No one knows how it works, and it’s not constant across the earth. I have to admit that the fluctuations are very slight, but they are there and are measurable. No one knows if it has been constant all through earth’s existence. I like to think of Tyrannosauri Rex and Bronchosauri free-wheeling in the sky. What a trip.It is thought to be due to particles/waves called gravitons which as of now are hypothetical and have never been measured or observed. Gravity is inferred by its effects. So, if you see a group of young men preening and posturing and generally making asses of themselves, you can infer that there is a spectacularly beautiful woman nearby. Gravity and gravitons made flesh. AlaraApothecary: we explain science in ways that make sense 🙂 And the OS contour map? I included it because contour maps have always reminded me of fingerprints and I love the crazy swirls. As the Billster said:

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

Keep questioning everything, and never drink the Kool-Aid. Simple rules to live by. Have a fantabulous week.

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Lions & Tigers & Bears , Oh My…..

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Oh my giddy aunt, Ye gods and little fishes etc etc. What a perfectly ghastly week. I can’t believe I survived it. Yesterday for example, I had two meetings, one took 40 minutes, the other 20 minutes. Total travel time, 8½ hours. No, that was not a typo. Maximum distance of each journey from my house, 20 miles. Can you Adam and Eve it? Needless to say, the pollen count was like a gazillion. There’s a maximum dose for antihistamines, you say? Not when you’re about to scratch out your own eyeballs, there isn’t. So, thank you very much Southern Trains and SouthWest trains. You’ll be glad to know I eventually repented of the baroque curses I was directing at your management, the only one of which I care to share being that I hope all your teeth fall out. (It was a really bad day!). Any teeth that fell out between the thought and the repentance will just have to be put down to occupational hazard, sorry. Believe me, ALL your unfortunate passengers hate your living guts; you’re getting off lightly.

Anyhoo, in the midst of this insanity, I had the misfortune to read a puff article  about an actress who shall remain nameless. AlaraApothecary: trolling is not our way. Usually, I don’t read these mindless pieces of stupidity as they make me suicidal, but seeing there were no trains to jump in front of, and I was stuck in commuter-purgatory, I foolishly risked it. After the usual flummery about empowerment, accompanied by the obligatory bimbo-esque poses, (irony by-pass), she explained how she was helping the sisterhood by insisting the film company pay for a nanny ( or was it nannies?) while she was on set. If they wanted to get the best performance from her( no, she’s not playing Cordelia in King Lear), it was the least they could do. I feel empowered already. All of us should go to work on Monday and inform Tesco, Sainsburys, TfL or wherever we work that we need personal, full-time nannies at the company’s expense so we can do our very best work on the tills or on the shopfloor or in the clinic, or wherever. Don’t worry if you don’t actually have a child; ask for the nanny anyway, because you’re worth it 🙂 I can totally see why she can’t pay for her own childcare, what with earning only $20 million a movie. I may well start a crowdfund for her, please give generously.

Not to abuse the poor girl, I’m hoping for her sake that she was misquoted or something. It did make me wonder though; at what point after you become rich and famous do you lose all touch with reality? When do you start believing that because the paid yes-people around you constantly agree with you, you must be the Messiah the world ths been waiting for? I won’t mention Mr A Blair at this point because 150,000 deaths and counting is no matter for frivolity. There is a theory that the poorer the person’s childhood was, the more they are likely to become egomaniacal narcissists if they become successful. Nah, I know plenty of these idiots from 24-K  have-yacht backgrounds. I may even be one myself, uh oh. It reminds me of the poem:

See the happy moron,

He doesn’t give a damn.

I wish I were a moron.

My God! Perhaps I am!.

There was nothing else to do except come home, slump on the sofa, guzzle a pizza and hit the Jose Cuervo and look at many, many images of beautiful items by designers who fortunately don’t give interviews about empowerment. The only thing that could have made it even better would have been wearing that amazing dress while eating the pizza (size 34, UK; post-pizza). I leave you with the cheesy joke of the week:

Q: Why did the chicken go to the séance?

A: To get in touch with the other side.

Tap once for yes, twice for no 🙂 Have a fab, ouija-free weekend. Seriously, don’t mess with that stuff. AlaraApothecary: we do our best to minimise your need for exorcism.

 

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Machiavelli Mi Amore

BREXIT- the gift that just keeps on giving. First of all, the bankers, Treasury, and financial ‘experts’ took an Olympic-sized bath by betting on a catastrophic crash, wrongly as usual. You’d need a heart of stone not to laugh.

Then we had the people asking for a 2nd, 3rd, 87th referendum- in fact, a Neverendum:

“What do we want? ”

“A referendum! ”

“When do we want it? ”

“Until we get a result we like! ”

Beyond hilarious. Democracy is like the army; you shouldn’t have joined  if you can’t take a joke. Even better was the spectacle of MPs who were elected with fewer votes on a lower electorate turnout having the cheek to threaten to overturn the vote. On what mandate, S’il vous plaît? On your lower turnout? Clowns.

 

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Then we come to the BoJo & Gove show. It gladdens my heart to witness such stunning political léger de main. Boris hangs tight for a week, not declaring his candidacy and drawing all the fire of the ABB (anyone but Boris) crowd. Sarah Vine ‘accidentally’ sends a damning email to a member of the public. Just before the nominations close, Michael throws his hat into the ring, denouncing Boris in extremely vague terms which would not preclude adding Boris to a future cabinet. End result- ‘ruthless’ Michael becomes  capo di tutti capi in the Tory party, a cheerful Boris declines to run for PM although no one seems to wonder why he doesn’t stay to fight his corner,  and Theresa May is left spitting feathers having concentrated her fire on the wrong person for a full week. Beautifully done. Such a change from the usual ineptitude of political manouevering; it’s good to see some brains at work.

The Labour MPs are hellbent on getting rid of the only leader their core voters would vote for. He’ll go and the voters will all vote UKIP, and what a pretty kettle of fish that will be. I’m sure they’ll all find new jobs they’re eminently qualified for in 2020 such as …. erm…. Meanwhile in the real world, life goes on. There are no marauding gangs bearing pitchforks on the streets. Mind you, I was in Hertfordshire yesterday and methinks I saw a pitchfork or two. Here be dragons, as most Londoners would believe. I’m just joking. And so the ship of fools that is the House of Commons sails on, over the edge of the world.

In the real world, roads are still being swept, hair cut, pupils taught, the sick nursed. You know, the labour that actually creates the wealth of the country and keeps it functioning. I bring you two more images today- the Smeg fridges made in collaboration with Dolce & Gabbana. My big fat Gypsy fridge – words fail me. Children, avert your eyes.

 

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My personal fave? The pimped Roller covered in purple velvet. It’s so impractical and utterly without any redeeming feature that I immediately fell in love. It’s akin to a pair of galoshes made from rose petals. I hope the owner employs someone whose dedicated task it is to brush it with a clothes brush every day – for 40K a year. And no, this guy (it’s a guy, for sure!) is not what’s wrong with the world (well, not entirely 🙂 ) It’s the £50 billion (more like £80 billion by the end) that the idiot government is planning to spend on HS2 to shave half-an-hour off the journey to the North while devastating huge swathes of the countryside that will mean that when you need a triple by-pass or a cataract operation, there’ll be no money for it.

And so the world turns. Don’t be surprised if you find I’m running for leadership of both parties. AlaraApothecary for Empress of the World ! You know it makes sense.  Have a terrific weekend.

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