2009 by Galenicals

the

Black Bag

The University of Bristol Medical Studentsâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC; Magazine

The University of Bristol Medical Students‘ Magazine VOL. I

AUTUMN TERM, 2009

NO. 1

EDITORS: D. R. A. Cox & R. A. F. Pellatt CONTRIBUTORS: George Brand, Eoin Dinneen, Harriet O‘Neil, Piers Osborne, Adam Stoneham, Greer Stuart, Dr Trevor Thompson

―The art of medicine consists in amusing the patient while nature cures the disease.‖ — VOLTAIRE

Black Bag the

Autumn 2009

Contents Editorial

Page .

MTAS 2009

Swine Flu Alert .

. 11

Societies Awards Night .

. 17

Dear Mr H.J. Heinz

. 21

Do I Look Like a Taxi Driver?

. 23

Freshers Pub Crawl

. 25

Obituary

. 23

Confessions of a N. A. .

. 29

Memories of Love

. 33

Are You Getting Your Oats? .

. 36

How to Seduce a Lady .

. 39

Educational Crypticities .

. 42

Coffee Break

. 43

Editorial

t‘s 4.27am: six empty wine bottles, an ashtray full of Camel Lights and two pairs of soiled underwear lie on the table in front of us. BBC World is on repeat. With bleary eyes and groggy heads, the first part of our trilogy is finally complete. William Osler once said, ―There is no more difficult art to acquire than the art of observation, and for some men it is quite as difficult to record an observation in brief and plain language.‖ In this, our inaugural edition of The Black Bag, we have tried to record the entertaining observations of our friends and colleagues, reproducing their thoughts and plainly stating the jokes. We hope you find time to enjoy the magazine, be it in Frenchay common room, E29 or during a Whipple‘s procedure. In the pursuit of artistic expression and satirical truth, we do not doubt that we have trodden on a few diabetic feet. Please take everything with a pinch of salt (unless you have a pre-existing heart condition) and try not to frown too heavily. There is plenty to enjoy even if you have been name checked (Ash Kumar).

D.R.A Cox & R.A.F Pellatt

Medical Training Application Service 2009 To help out with the F1 application process, The Black Bag have prepared some model answers to the MTAS questions…. 1. Describe a case from your clinical experience that you have observed in the first 24 hours from hospital admission. How did members of different professional teams interact? and how did this contribute to effective patient care? What did you learn from this that will influence your future practice as a doctor? During my third year A&E attachment, I saw a gentleman who presented via ambulance with an abnormal gait and extreme pain on sitting. It subsequently emerged that the patient had ‗accidentally‘ slipped and fallen onto a full bottle of milk (which was fortunately sheathed by a condom) with such force as for it to be completely engorged into his anal passage. On admission to the unit it was crucial that a multidisciplinary approach was taken. The healthcare assistant, first on the scene, acted quickly to assemble the implements necessary for the procedure, procuring several tea bags, a large kettle, sugar and cups. The registered nurse also played a crucial role, scampering to the store to retrieve the emergency box of Fox‘s assorted biscuits. The junior doctor was notified and directed the team to boil the water and place the biscuits, via aseptic technique, onto a nice china plate. Aware of his limitations, the F1 sought advice from the consultant physician on call. It was important to ascertain the optimal brewing window, the pros and cons of

glucose infusion and most importantly of all, the evidence base surrounding the age-old ‗milk before tea, tea before milk‘ dilemma. Thankfully all present received an outstanding cuppa and from this experience I have learnt that one must always have the bottle to make the best of a tight situation. 2. Describe a memorable experience of being taught. How has this shaped your thinking about teaching? Identify a particular situation in which you might be teaching in the future. Describe how you might apply what you have learned to maximize the effectiveness of your teaching. In my third year I vividly recall being instructed by a senior vascular surgeon, Ms. Fanny Gaping, on palpating the body‘s pulses. Ms. Gaping directed me to lie on the examining couch and asked me to remove my trousers for demonstration of what a hard one the femoral pulse can be. Ms. Gaping‘s buxom, hour glass figure pressed against me as she placed her instruments under my pants. Enthralled by the demonstration, I couldn‘t help but note as she leant over that she wasn‘t wearing a bra. With an adept slip of the fingers she elicited an immediate response and I could scarcely hide my growing enthusiasm. Then having reached the climax of the examination she courteously, yet clinically, finished it off. Until this juncture I had always found teaching in clinical medicine to be a rather flaccid affair. Ms. Gaping showed me that good interpersonal skills can really arouse a desire to learn, leading me to spend much more time on self-directed study. Indeed I often find myself thinking about Ms. Gaping and her skilful touch during such moments. In the future I will strive to touch my students on as deep a level as Ms. Gaping discovered within me.

3. You are one of two foundation doctors on a ward round. The registrar identifies a minor error made by your colleague and makes inappropriate critical comments in front of the patient and the healthcare team. Your colleague is visibly distressed. What actions would you take and how would you prioritise these? What actions do you believe your colleague should take in relation to these comments? How might you address a minor error made by a more junior colleague in the future? The most important aspect of this situation is that all members of the medical team assist in never allowing the junior doctor to forget her mistake. The situation should frequently be recalled on ward rounds and in multidisciplinary meetings, along with the fact that a man in her situation would never have made such a stupid mistake. For example, were the mistake to result in a patient‘s death, one could prioritise along the following: 1) Remember to refer to the patient as ‗The Victim‘ in front of the F1 2) A nickname such as ‗007‘ (licence to kill) would seem fitting 3) Frequently raise the question as to whether the junior might not be better suited to the percolator than the defibrillator 4) Remind her not to get her knickers in a twist In relation to these comments one might advise the junior doctor to find a suitable young man for marrying and the production of children. It might be worth quietly taking her aside and asking would she not be better suited in the kitchen and on the school run. Assuming the majority of mishaps in hospital occur because of pre-menstrual hormonal women, in the future one might consider making one‘s ward a ‗jam-free‘ zone.

4. Describe one example from your medical training when you have received feedback on an aspect of your performance. Explain how that feedback altered your subsequent practice. How will you use this experience to develop a specific aspect of your foundation training? After a rather rambunctious celebration following my third year examinations, I was lucky enough to find myself in the bedroom of a fifth year female medic colleague. The next morning, as she lay sleeping, my (admittedly hazy) memory was of a Casanova gently seducing his Juliet: I had carried her home in my arms, charming and handsome, firm and tender; I had thrilled her all night, until she had called out her undying love for me.. When my sleeping sweetheart awoke, I reminded her of our exploits the night before. She seemed surprised, and explained that her version of events did not quite match my own. Shocked, I asked her would she not feedback to me her side of the story. She mentioned the following:

―On the way home, you stopped on three occasions to be sick on the pavement. You passed out fully clothed on my bed, waking up briefly for a further vomiting episode. In the early hours of the morning, you insisted you were well enough to perform, taking off all of your clothes. You then proceeded to thrust limply against my leg for, at most, thirty seconds.‖ Feeling a damp patch on the area of my pyjamas that your pelvis had been in contact with, I assumed that this fleeting interaction had been enough to allow you to reach a conclusion. However, the warmth of the patch soon informed me that the anatomical function performed was, in fact, micturition. At this point I swore loudly and repeatedly.‖ Downcast, I thanked her for her frankness. Needless to say, she has not been involved in any subsequent practice. She has also taken the time to inform the entire medical school of my behaviour, therefore I imagine that it will be well after my foundation jobs that I ever get another shot with the fairer sex.

5. At times, the patient and the medical team have different ideas on the management of the patient‘s illness, because of personal, social or cultural views held by the patient. Describe a clinical case where you have observed this. Identify the factors that contributed to these differing views. Why is it important to understand these differences in your practice as a foundation doctor? During my third year psychiatry placement I had the pleasure of meeting a gentleman who informed me that, unbeknownst to friends and family, He was Jesus Christ. Whilst I was sceptical over the validity of this claim I decided to accept the blasphemer‘s confession out of respect for His religious values. J.C.‘s mental health began to deteriorate during His stay with the psychiatric team. He became more introverted and was found constantly whittling small objects out of wood, mumbling towards the sky and attempting to dissect his Friday fish course into thousands of tiny segments. The consultant psychiatrist decided that a prescription of haloperidol would form the best management plan for Him. J.C. was very reluctant to start this course of treatment and began to complain that He was ‗being persecuted‘. J.C. voiced His aversion for this medical treatment; however, the psychiatrist decided to give it to Him anyway, as he was the doctor. Immediately after His first depot injection of the antipsychotic J.C. experienced an extreme reaction to the drug and passed away. On post-mortem no exact cause was discovered for His death, as the body had mysteriously left the mortuary. This clinical case has taught me the value of listening to the patient. For, several weeks after His death it was discovered from CCTV footage of His ward activities that J.C. had actually been suffering from a alcohol problem that had developed following the installation of a water cooler in His room.

WATCH OUT FOR SWINE FLEW; Ten times more deadly than avian influenza. 10

Subject: From: Date: To: Priority:

[All students] Swine Flu Alert "Medical Facultyâ&#x20AC;? <medadmin-4> Fri, October 2, 2009 3:06 pm MEDI_MBCHB: ; High

Dear Medical Students, It has recently come to our attention that the World Health Organisation has declared the swine flu pandemic a national emergency. With the coming of the chilly autumnal months the disease is likely to become increasingly widespread, particularly among at-risk groups such as medical students. We have therefore updated our Flu Pandemic Contingency Plan and request that you vigilantly cooperate with our policies in the new academic year. The virus spreads particularly effectively in crowded, steamy and debaucherous environments. We are therefore negotiating the imminent closure of establishments such as Lizard Lounge, and request that in the meantime surgical masks should be worn in this location at all times. Frequenters of this venue must also remain a minimum of twelve inches apart from one another. The adherence to these guidelines will be monitored by use of CCTV. Furthermore,9it is believed that a more serious strain of the virus (H1N1-XX) may be on the rise. This particu-

lar form of flu can be contracted via the faecal to oral route, as well as being potentially sexually transmitted. The H1N1-XX strain can result in the development of a snout-like protuberance from the face in females and the irreversible necrosis of external genitalia in males. We therefore advise medical students to strictly refrain from incestuous activities of a sexual nature. Should a student contract this virulent strain, however, then in the nature of public interest they will be required to display their symptoms in a lecture held in front of the entire medical school, so that other students will subsequently be able to recognise the external manifestations of this disease and include it in their clerking portfolios, as part of a reflection upon experiential learning. If any student recognises the aforementioned symptoms of swine flu then do not hesitate to contact Dr Richard Smith, who will deal with all H1N1-XX cases. Better still, for diagnostic purposes, why not try smearing him with your faeces? All contributions will be gratefully received. Kind Regards, Margaret Kirkup, University of Bristol Swine Flu Administrator ********************** This message may contain confidential and privileged information. If you are not the intended recipient please accept our apologies. Please do not disclose copy or distribute information in this e-mail or take any action in reliance on its contents: to do so is strictly prohibited and may be unlawful. Please inform us that this message has gone astray before deleting it.

Thank you for your co-operation.

Swine Flu:

Spot Diagnosis

We welcome comments on any of the articles published (excluding complaints). Please address correspondence, including submissions, to The Editors at: blackbag2009@googlemail.com

The Student Union‘s Annual Society Awards 2009 Report They only come out at night; so the saying goes. The phrase was never more apt than at the Student Union‘s Annual Societies Awards evening, which Black Bag had the displeasure of attending before the summer break…

alenicals had secured a place at this ‗prestigious‘ event following a rigorous campaign of self-nomination for, as the President put it, ‗anything going‘ in terms of awards. Whilst we were undoubtedly as excited as a granddad in a Viagra factory to have been invited, the committee down-played their enthusiasm with only a handful of members turning up (5 of 17). Those who did shuffled downcast towards the union building, bellies bulging with beer from the previous night‘s postexamination Lizard Lounge. This of course cleverly disguised our competitive edge. None of us knew what waited behind the double doors of the Avon Gorge Room; had we, we surely

wouldn‘t have entered. For, as a noticeably shaky hand threw them open, a world of geekiness, to an extent unknown even in medic circles, was revealed before us, causing all to reflexively reach for our library cards. The less cynical amongst the group admirably tried to give the benefit of the doubt to this sea of ghostly white, mulletted computer-nerds, standing motionless or sitting in socially awkward groups, clearly apprehensive to get home to their laptops and virtual alter-egos. But as we trudged over to our table, furiously necking our complimentary glasses of Sainsbury‘s-own bubbly wine, past the fine figures of manhood who make up Computer Gaming Society,

the caricature-shaped members of Operatic Society, and Ballroom dancers twitching at their heels and eager to flaunt their annoying, grin ridden moves, (taking in all of their tedious chatter, Warcraft jokes and grunted giggles as we went) even the most saintly among us began to give the kind of glares that are well-known to the average school bully. At the risk of sounding like utter @;(!&%s (wankers) we felt sure to win. What followed was an hour with clapping for every 30 seconds out of 60. Were it not for the free vinegar, bravely marketed as wine, it would have been completely possible to fall into a stuporous depression. This was exacerbated by the fact that each glorious winner was summoned up on stage to give what seemed like a half hour speech, each with about as much charm and charisma as an Andy Murray post-match interview. As the night drew on we began to waver; with the overly -zealous horns of the jazz band blaring 20 centimetres from

our predominantly unoccupied table at the front of the venue, something died in each of us. It did not help that we had been defeated in EVERY category we had so confidently nominated ourselves for. But as the finale drew near, the award for Best Society, something sparked again within. Putting aside the worry that it was the ethanol dressed as wine in our stomachs from the twelve bottles weâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;d commandeered, our sense of duty, pride and rowdiness for Galenicals was awakened. We were no longer happy to merely amuse ourselves by looking at how the next winner had broadly interpreted the

‗Black-tie‘ dress code to fit in his with warlock clan, we had purpose - we were here to receive an award (albeit for the work of last year‘s committee – thank you Tom Fox). With our sense of direction restored in the gawky wilderness we began to focus, booing and jeering each consecutive winner, initiating rule-less drinking games and danger flirting with the least attractive people we could find. The night was becoming a success. Then the big moment. The new societies‘ rep at the union, boldly wearing a poorly thought-out bright green dress, announced: ‗And this year‘s Society of the Year award goes to…‘ We all began to stand, arguing as to who should give the acceptance speech. However, the next words uttered from those overly-glossed, tarry lips exposed a voting scandal that Robert Mugabe would be envious of… ‗The Bristol University Barber Shop Society.‘ We collectively exhaled, winded, all thinking that such

cynical vote rigging had never been seen this side of downtown Tehran. I mean, of course, it did cross my mind that The Bristol University Barber Shop Society have well over a thousand members, raised over ten thousand pounds with their Clicendales charity event and are a society unmatched in their levels of diversity and activity…but… no…wait…we‘d been robbed. Then I had one of those crystallizing drunken moments that you are sure will change your life, only to be shamefully forgotten in the paracetamolfilled morning; the geeks that we had been so callously mocking had emerged as winners, triumphant - we were the losers, drunkenly swaggering around the dance floor whilst they elegantly jived, waltzed and fox-trotted past. I looked at my watch: if I left now, I would have enough time to save my Elves from the Ogre assault that Willo5686 had warned me about on Twitter.

D. R. A. Cox

Do I Look Like a Taxi Driver? A

re you heading off on a placement for the first time and wondering how you are going to get there? Have you ever been charged wear and tear for a journey? Ever felt like a taxi service/mug? Ever given a lift to Sally Henderson? Then read on... As medical students with our own cars, we have become disheartened with the lack of respect we are given. There are no rules on Blackboard about how to be a good passenger so we thought we should put it straight. Remember just because random allocation has put us drivers together with you non-drivers, we probably don‘t like you (unless you are fit and single, and don‘t talk too much, although this is very unlikely in Bristol). Please take note of the following; we hope it will enable pleasant journeys to and from the middle of nowhere. These rules have been developed to protect the rights of the driver, to ensure passenger equality and to prevent a Dianna and Dodi-esque end to your trip. On a personal note, a Suzuki Liana may not be the quickest vehicle in the world, and you may not want to hear Dizzie Rascal at 7.30am, but it could be worse — you could be taking the train.

RULES 1. Offer petrol money, a reasonable amount, every time you get a lift. Just because someone said no one time doesn‘t mean they get their petrol for free. 2. A reasonable amount is not £1 for a return journey to Swindon. 3. Do not expect door to door service, you can walk home from my bloody house. 4. A driver is not a bell boy. Carry your own bags, even girls. 5. Never touch my stereo – everyone needs a bit of cheesy pop. 6. We will leave when I am ready to leave. I don‘t care if you have a clinic till 5 that you need signing off. 7. If you have a driving licence and a car, bring it to Bristol – if you don‘t, get one. 8. Provide coffee and sweets for the journey. 9. Leaving half an hour early in the morning for a MacDonald's breakfast is always a good idea. 10. Stopping at every motorway Burger King is acceptable. 11. If you are a lady, sit in the back seat with your legs crossed or closed. 12. Never criticise: driving, cornering, parking or the use of horn and/or indicators. 13. I do not want to hear about your problems –―No he or she doesn‘t like you‖, ―Yes you do need to lose some weight.‖ 14. Anything found in my car belongs to me, including sweets, spare change, CD‘s, pornographic material etc. G. Brand & P. Osborne

Freshers Pub Crawl

Wimble‘s brother gets lucky (unlucky)

R.I.P virginity (11/10/2009)

Wish I as was fit as Yuka...

―Down it Fresher!‖ 25

A farewell drink…

s lucky

―Cheeky three way?‖

―Get your coat love, you‘ve pulled!‖

Obituary The rise and fall of Ash Kumar; A celebrity medic (2005-2009)

ear Reader, it is our sad duty to report the recent demise of one of our own. Once in a generation a group of people are blessed, unknowingly endowed, with the privilege of orbiting a legend. Our lives are left seeming tarnished and dim when their fuse eventually burns out. This year the medical school has lost one such shining star... Ash Kumar (no rhyme intended). The Good Times: Ash (who later changed his name to Lash) shot onto the medical school scene in 2005, snubbing professional Lacrosse for a career in medicine. He soon developed a network that would leave Facebook envious, a social mogul as infamous for his skills with a hockey stick as with a hockey chick. Yes, Ash was a lady‘s man – tearing through the medical school like a forest fire – Ash everywhere. However, while his penchant for the fairer sex was rohypnol-esque, he was no less popular with his male counterparts. Feared as the keeper of the five-a-side mailing list, he ruled the gym with an iron fist. Yet there was no one more revered amongst the male medic fraternity as a symbol, an example, a man‘s man, a lad.

―What happened on tour, stayed on tour.‖ 27

The End: So it is with heavy heart that we must inform you that Ash sadly slipped away in the night several weeks ago, the victim of a deadly strain of Girlnococcus Friendeus. He was last seen in Lounge – not avidly scanning the dance floor for someone easy, as in days gone by, but anxiously glancing at his phone and texting in a malignant panic over how late he could stay out. Sweaty, with no vodbull jug in hand – it was a horrible sight for his medic family to see. Ash battled bravely throughout the course of the disease. But the symptoms of this nagging shrew of a condition were too much for even his substantially slung ball-sack to bear, and eventually, his external genitalia completely retracted to form what can only be described as a ―mangina‖. While it is true that in some way he remains living and breathing, walking the streets of Bristol, the Ash we knew and loved is no more. They say that by the end, he was a mere shadow of his former self, shunning lash and Lounge for quiet nights in and romantic comedies. Ash you are not just another fallen comrade, you‘ll be remembered... ...especially by the following: Katie Pass, Alice Lilly, Christina Carding, Emma Conroy Smith, Elizabeth McQueen, Katie Clare, Hannah Phelan, Francesca Curry, Olivia Jagger, Olivia Jagger & Olivia Jagger Ashley Kumar (Lad) 2005-2009

Confessions of a Nursing Assistant

t was a sweltering Sunday evening in early July; I was midway through a nursing shift in that famous Bristol hospital. No doubt to save money, the air conditioning was turned off; patients and staff swooned in the drooping sun, as the pong of fifty pairs of sweaty feet mixed with the sour odour of sputum samples and haemoptysis. One of the toxic waste bags had split open by the main entrance, spilling used dressings and soiled nightgowns that added their own distinct flavours to the proceedings. On the main ward, a patient with dementia was emitting an ambulance-siren wail every ten seconds. No amount of analgesia would dampen the volume of his screams. Now, I am a humanist, and had the upmost empathy with the sufferer who was in all probability experiencing a great deal of pain. But, after several hours of the penetrative squawk, I do believe the poor soul had, to me, lost all

human resemblance, and had taken on the aura of a homosapien-sized alarm clock, going off indefinitely. I wanted nothing more than for God to hit his eternal â&#x20AC;&#x2022;snoozeâ&#x20AC;&#x2013;! In the insufferable heat, and with a dozen sick people to attend to, I was hugely relieved when the head nurse swapped two nurses onto my shift, switching me to individual care for one of the High Dependency patients. She had obviously seen that I was run off my feet, and although the HDU patients had more serious conditions, they were generally easier to manage. And, to my relief, the chap I met was a jolly, friendly, undemanding fellow. A rotund, stocky patient, he lay propped up in his bed, breathing quickly but communicative and smiling, a long silver beard curling about the lower half of his face and the upper part of his neck. He was interesting to talk to; he had travelled around the world as a geologist and knew all about things and

machines. We got on famously. And the HDU ward had electric fans, so it was cool, and the nurses seemed fun and giggly, and I was certain that one attractive blonde was even giving me a suggestive smile. He was, of course, very sick. So weak he could barely lift a fork of food without my help. I had to hold a bowl under his mouth to catch the splutters of spit that he hacked up. His observations were to be done regularly, every twenty minutes. He was in a lot of pain and on morphine. But he still smiled where others might have sunken into themselves. As part of the Nursing Assistant job, it is not uncommon to find oneself cleaning a lot of bums. This gentleman was no exception. In fact, a bout of chronic diarrhoea meant that I was rotating and wiping him and replacing his sanitary pads perhaps every half hour. He was too sick to get up and go to the lavatory. But amazingly, and unlike most pa-

tients, he took this degrading necessity remarkably well: ―Now come on son! Don‘t be gentle; give it a good going over! Really get into the crack! That‘s the job!‖ And each time I went in to perform my cleaning service, a similar remark. Don‘t be shy! Just get it clean! That‘s the one! Well, I was amazed; I told the nurses about my patient‘s solidarity, about the stoic way that he took what might understandably make others feel ashamed or upset. The blonde nurse who had been meeting eyes with me winked. Great, I thought, maybe I‘ll casually ask her out for a drink afterwards. (D. Cox: Pellatt has

never been, and never will be cool enough to casually ask a nurse out for a drink!) ―You‘re really taking a special interest in Mr -----, aren‘t you?‖ she said, with a little giggle. I flashed her a grin and said something dreadful like ―Just doing my job, babe‖, or ―It gives me

strength to care for the really sick ones.‖ She laughed, fluttering away. Result! I thought. ―Have a look in my phone‘s contact list for my partner‘s number, young chap,‖ my upstanding old patient asked me. I happily obliged, flipping open the mobile. Oh, what horror! Oh, what filth before my innocent eyes! For, as I looked down, the colour display that confronted me had a photograph for its screensaver. I stared for an extended second. A double take. I gulped. My throat went dry. Before me was a close up picture of my patient‘s bearded face. His mouth was curved in a smile. His eyes were closed. His eyes were closed due to the imminent arrival of a mid-trajectory blob of ejaculatory fluid. On the other side of the screen, a great-shafted phallus was in the process of ejecting more fluid into the air. A sperm shower! A reproductive rainstorm! A wank waterfall! I stuttered. I stammered a reply about the phone being

broken, almost dropping it. I couldn‘t look him in the eye. Eventually I stumbled back and, glancing about me, saw the nurses at their desk, doubled over with laughter. They had known all along. My confidence was shot; their giggles and playful comments (―You‘re getting on well with Mr. -----, aren‘t you?‖, ―Don‘t you two look like you‘re having fun?‖) were at me, not with me! The one that I thought had fancied me was positively roaring with laughter. I thought about the bumwipings. He had been enjoying them! I had stimulated another man. The patient was trying to get my attention; I came out of the haze of horrible realisation. He was asking me a question. ―Well, did you get the number, young chap? I‘d appreciate it if you gave my partner a call; he‘s supposed to be coming in to bring me some face wipes!‖

R. A. F. Pellatt

Medical students are, without fail, reputable, upstanding members of the community. 32

Memories of Love by Davyth Gwynek

rom time to time we meet patients who have a profound and lasting effect on us. Davyth Gwynek was a sweet old man who I met and quickly befriended in hospital in Gloucester. ―You got a girlfriend?‖, he asked suddenly one day. I told him I hadn‘t. He winked at me. ―Then let me give you some advice‖, he said, and he told me the following story. *** As a young man, before he met his beautiful wife he used to work in the Brynmenyn mines. He said he burrowed further into her depths than any man alive. They first met when they attended a National Trust ball in the spring of 1978 attended by members from all over the country. His name (coming from the Valleys, of course) was very hard to pronounce. When they were

introduced she remembered finding the Welsh member a bit of a mouthful, but finally got her tongue round it. Later that evening, he plucked up the courage to ask her for a dance. They waltzed together all evening and although his nerves made him a little stiff they were having such fun she barely noticed. Finally the time had come for him to take her home. She was petrified by what her parents would say if they found out, so they decided not to approach her house by the front. She kept very quiet as he sneaked up her back alley but loosened up no end when he was safely inside. He wrote a letter to her the next day asking her out for dinner. Being a romantic sort (and wanting to impress her) he chose a cafe-restaurant on The Triangle. Despite his attention to detail they both agreed with hindsight that it

wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;t a good idea to take her into Browns on the first date. After dinner they went down to the waterfront to enjoy some traditional West-Country snacks. A local fisherman offered them some of his fresh shellfish preserved in alcohol. He liked mussels in beer and she enjoyed a portion of his winkles in cider. Getting back to the apartment he shared with some friends, she was delighted to find a pot of caviar and a tray of exotic aperitifs laid out in the living room. They were worried about disturbing his flatmates so he promised to serve her the caviar indoors and then liquor out on the balcony. In time their romance blossomed and he proposed with a ring that had belonged to his grandmother. She was delighted when he went down in front of her. But she had such big hands they had to use a lot of spit before they could get it on. They were married on a nearby farm belonging to his parents, who laid on a lavish banquet in their honour. His

brothers were butchers in the neighbouring town and had offered her a spit-roast for the occasion. In the end she opted for pork instead but was impressed none-the-less by the size of their gigantic ox. She died on the eve of their 60th wedding anniversary, after a long and happy marriage. When she was cremated he carried her ashes out to sea to scatter in a bay where they used to fish together in their retirement. He remembered the spot because they had been there recently with some of their grandchildren and their boyfriends and girlfriends and she had stood on the side of the boat and tossed off a large buoy. *** Davyth died peacefully in his sleep that night. A kinder man, a more loving father or devoted husband you couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;t hope to meet. And do you know the best bit of all? In the end I took his advice I found a nice girl of my own. Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;re taking it pretty slowly at the moment.

Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;ve bought a new pair of waterproofs which I wear when we run together round Bristol in the rain. After a good pounding on the downs, her trousers are soaked right through to her legs, and I spread them in front of the fire. Other days we go round to her place for afternoon tea. I have to be careful because all her furni-

ture is antique, passed down from generation to generation, apart from an old chest of drawers which we drink off. I do get a bit excited sometimes but she doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;t mind it when I splash out on her chest. Thanks Davyth! I know you would have approved. A. Stoneham

Are You Getting Your Oats?

ometimes the simplest things have most to offer the pressing predicaments of our times. Take for instance the oat: grass and a half, cereal superstar, grain of true greatness. If you never enjoyed doing porridge then allow me to explain why we should all accede to this seed. Avena sativa is about 10% fibre. Despite being indigestible, dietary fibre has a giant job in maintaining systemic health. The soluble stuff turns to gel which slows the absorption of macromolecules. This is why fibre lowers serum cholesterol, LDL and CHD risk. For the same reason oats also have an exceptionally low

glycaemic index. Though stuffed with carbs they relinquish these slowly into the blood which is magic for glycaemic control in diabetics and makes the feeder feel fuller for longer. Thus it is a favoured food for our fatter brethren. About half the fibre in an oat is insoluble. Though it cannot dissolve in water it is very good at hanging on to it, thus bulking the stool, improving transit time and culling constipation which is probably why dietary fibre has being serially shown to reduce the risk of colonic cancer and to function in functional bowel disorders. As a GP trainee in Glasgow

I was introduced by one of my patients a topical tip for the misery of eczema. Take a handful of oats, stuff them in a sock or stocking and run through with hot water to create a milky ―oat bath‖. This seems to help as do moisturising products in the ―Aveeno‖ range. There is some antiinflammatory in there as occasionally the effect of Aveeno is dramatic. Though I could go on outlining oat‘s benefits for health (high in minerals, vitamins and protein) it‘s their environmental credentials that seal my support. The oat is a forgiving grass that grows in thin soils in temperate climes like the north of Scotland. Much of our oat (unlike much of our wheat) is grown in the UK which means fewer fossils from field to fork. On average 3KJ of oil energy is required to produce, process, package and transport 1KJ of food energy. For meat the ratio is much higher. The Food Miles debate is rich and complex. For instance Spanish tomatoes clock

up more miles, but in April clock up less carbon, than their British buddies because the Brits need to heat their greenhouses and the Spaniards don’t. But the eco-logic of the British oat is solid as one of my daughter’s flapjacks. They require little processing, just drying and rolling. Packaging requirements are also minimal especially if you buy in those thin plastic bags which, if you venture to Scoopaway (Gloucester Road), you can even re-use. However I do want to put in a word for Quaker Oats. Though their cardboard boxes, including the recently acquired ―Scott‘s Oats‖ brand sporting a muscled Scot with a cannonball, aren‘t the most minimal, and they recently got nicked selling ordinary oats in boxes labelled organic, there is one very interesting thing about the company. They are investing £6m in a biomass boiler which will generate enough energy to power their entire Fife factory. And the fuel for the boiler? The husks

of the oats left behind after milling. Quaker is no longer owned by a family of behatted non-conformists but by the same multinational that makes Pepsi. Go figure. If I have by now stirred up some enthusiasm for the oat you may still be thinking ―but I don‘t like eating porridge‖. Fair enough. It has been a miracle of Thompson family life that for a few years all offspring would eat porridge daily (they have since migrated to normal sugar-laden fayre). You need to work on it a bit. There are many options for the porridge-maker. Chief of these is whether to use milk or water, how much water/milk to use, the choice of standard or jumbo oats and whether to season with sugar or salt. After much experiment I recommend soaking the oats overnight (in the same pan you will later use to cook) with one cup of oats to three or four cups of water per person. Heat on a medium flame, turning down to simmer for about four minutes, stirring with a spirtle (wooden spoon without the

spoon bit). The final serving can be modded with maple syrup (delicious but pricey), roasted nuts, yoghurt (cream too delicious) and chopped banana. Whisky on feast days. It can also be done niftily in the microwave. If you are short of time in the morning, you can make batches for reheating. This also gets round the admittedly burdensome task of cleaning the porridge pot. Robert Burns (in ―The Cotter‘s Saturday Night‖) proclaims the dish ―The halesome parritch, chief of Scotia‘s food‖ with maybe a hint of irony given the Cotters in question were indentured surfs. It is definitely the cheapest of Scotia’s foods – the thrifty Quaker Oats for instance offering four times the Joules/ penny of Special K. The flapjack, oat-biscuit and muesli base are other important elements of oat cuisine. So given all this unequivocal goodness the question remains – are you getting your oats? Dr. T. Thompson

How to Seduce a Lady...

elcome to the lecture notes from my semi-successful summer series: ―How to turn pity into pussy‖. The following advice is aimed at freshers who want to wet their whistles for the first time, and has been tweaked throughout my years at Bristol med school and will almost guarantee a notch on the bedpost. Obviously if you are ugly or poor you will find pulling girls at Bristol more difficult than most, but stick at it and get ready to catch the crumbs from your richer, better-looking colleagues. Option 1: Go for the rebound At least 50% of girls will start university with a boyfriend from back home, by Christmas 99% of these will have split up — pulling one of these girls is like fishing with dynamite The key here is to use freshers‘ week wisely, befriending all of the girls with boyfriends. They can easily be spotted because all they do is chat about how perfect he is, and all that you have to do is ask about him, say he sounds like a lad, and agree with everything they say. Then wait... As soon as the inevitable happens and you hear the magic phrase, ―The time apart has just been to hard on us‖ or ―We‘ve both changed‖ or ―The bastard slept with my younger sister [LAD!!!]‖, then find out when and where she is going out. If in doubt the answer will be: That Night and Lounge. Go up to her and this is how the conversation will go: You: Hi, how are you? Her: Not too good, I split up with my boyfriend. You: Oh no! Are you alright?

Then you need to listen for a while, nod and tut and make all the right sounds. Then offer to buy her a drink, let her cry on your shoulder and utter the magic words: ―I know it is hard now, but you need to remember how special you are.‖ Then wait for the inevitable to happen…

BISH BASH BOSH! Option 2: Desperation is key Girls that haven‘t had sex in over a month become very desperate. These girls won‘t be the best lookers, they may in fact be morbidly obese, stink of BO and have a mild to severe case of clitomegaly. However if you are reading this remember that beggars cannot be choosers, add to that the fact that any hole‘s a goal and you are on to a winner. The desperate girls are easy to spot, they will be wearing ill fitting clothes, borrowed from their thin friends because they just want to look pretty (they will have failed). They will also be the only girls in the place that make the eyes* at anything that moves. Once spotted the method for the pull is to walk past them, make the eyes back, and repeat two minutes later. Then she will come over to you: offer to buy her a drink — tap water should do it. Next you should immediately leave the club with her to save you being spotted or photographed and tagged on Facebook the next day. Walk her to the kebab shop, tell her how pretty she looks in her outfit (exactly what she wants to hear that night), then walk/roll her home…

BISH BASH BOSH! 40

Option 3: Libby and Drew This is an advanced long con, and as such should be reserved for when you want to go for an attractive lady and feel you might be punching above your weight. This technique was first made famous in the mid 90‘s on Neighbours when Drew finally smashed Libby (only later to die in a tragic horse riding accident, underlining the danger inherent in this method). Firstly, find the love of your life and befriend them. Easy to do at Bristol, just agree with everything she says. Next you have to stick with it, maybe make up a sad story about how your dog died or something and aim to turn this sympathy into sex. Eventually after months or even years of persistence the broad‘s feelings change towards you from an initial creepy sensation towards an ever so slight attraction. The usual mistakes here are to either continue being friends – a move that will get you stuck in friends-ville for life. The other mistake of course is to ride a horse – leading to your untimely death. The actual best move to make is to get her drunk, multiplying the mild attraction she has towards you, ending in only one thing…

BISH BASH BOSH! G. Brand Disclaimer:  This article does not reflect the views or opinions of the author or the editors.  Alcohol should not be used to get people into bed (a seductive movement of the shoulder will work just as well).  Sleeping with your girlfriend‘s sister is not necessarily a good move. Unless she is fit, in which case it is always a good move.  * G. Brand originally insisted on the use of the phrase ‗eye fuck‘, however, in light of the editors‘ already tenuous relationship with the professional behaviour form, we considered this inappropriate.

Educational_Crypticities_ Each set of pictures amounts to a medical condition. Answers in Coffee Break. example:

one

two

three

four

“hash”+“emo”+ “toes” = Hashimoto’s

―Dr, Dr, I think I‘m a dog.‖ ―How long have you felt like this?‖ ―Since I was a puppy!‖ Q: How does herpes leave the hospital? A: On crotches. Doctor: "I've got terrible news: you've got cancer and Alzheimer's." Patient: "Well, at least I don't have cancer."

Surgeons must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the Culprit - Life!

~Emily Dickinson Until a physician has killed one or two, he is not a physician.

~Kashmiri Proverb Varicose veins are the result of an improper selection of grandparents.

~William Osler Most of those evils we poor mortals know From doctors and imagination flow.

~Charles Churchill

Down 1 Not of a book 3 Rapid muscle breakdown 4 Ugly skin condition 6 You may need one of these if you get PID 7 Watch out for frothing gash 8 Useless specialty 9 ―How frozen I then became: I did not die, yet nothing of life remained.‖ 11 Like the mouthwash 12 Common reason for sick note 13 Useless blood test 17 Abbreviation for syndromic child 18 GP money making scheme

Educational_Crypticities answers: 1) sarcoidosis (SARCOzy -”D’OH” - SISter 2) hypothermia (HI - POe - FUR - MIA) 3) graves disease (GRAVEStones) 4) benign brain tumour (B - 9 - the BRAIN - 2 - M - OAR)

Across 1 Intimate female examination 2 Most boring speciality for doctors 5 Most boring disease known to man 6 Painless separation of nail from bed 10 Bearded lady 14 Watch out for frothing dogs 15 Something you will never hear 16 I‘m backwards 19 Something not required for General Practice

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