Once more unto the breach....

After my adventures earlier this week you would think I would be sick of travelling. Well I am. The rather obvious downside to this fact is that I have just embarked on the bus journey to Glasgow necessary for catching my flight to Tenerife tomorrow.

I'm trying to keep my eyes on the proverbial prize but it's not easy. I am grateful for the fact that I can actually get the bus to Glasgow. On Friday the future of this trip seemed in real jeopardy.

So far though it has started well, with the first of what I hope will be a series of comedy asides to distract me from the tedium journey.

One young lad attempted to take his holdall onto the bus only to be told by the lady checking tickets that it would have to go in the hold. His initial protests were cut down by the firm statement "if you want to travel it goes in the hold - non negotiable!". He went on to claim he required the bag as it contained his 'asthma inhaler' which, it only seems right to point out at this stage, not only looked rather heavy but made a distinctive chinking sound as he swung the bag about.

All credit to him he'd picked his flimsy cover story and clearly intended to stick to it no matter what. "I need my inhaler" he implored. He came rather unstuck when the Megabus staffer suggested he remove it from the bag and perhaps keep it in his pocket. This course of action seemed only sensible as rummaging in a giant holdall (especially one full of bottles of booze) for a tiny inhaler could waste valuable seconds in the event of a serious asthma attack.

His counter to this was to claim that he couldn't take them out of the bag at which point he seemed to either realise he had been defeated or that this was an unexpected line of questioning that he hadn't prepared for. A little bit foolish given the glaringly obvious nature of the question. Accepting he had been bettered he gave up his argument and stowed the bag.

Not exactly hilarious I know but I'll take anything coming my way on a bus ride down the A9.

Maybe I'm a bit weird but there was a certain hilarity for me in his attempts to negotiate after he had been told this was an impossibility if he wished to travel, coupled with his obvious belief that the Megabus lady had never encountered such a well thought out cover story in her career. Nice try though.

Given that this is the level I have descended to for entertainment I think that my arrival in Tenerife can't come soon enough. Roll on tomorrow!

The campaign trail.

Well that was an interesting couple of days!

What was intended to be a flying visit to the Scottish Parliament to deliver the petition in opposition to proposed cuts to Highland Rheumatology Services turned into something altogether meatier.
The meeting with Nicola Sturgeon itself went fine. The points the HRU 5 (as I have taken to calling them) raised were all listened to but of particular and unconcealed interest to the overlord of the Scottish NHS were the two vital aspects that a) claims of consultation with the patients and wider community had most of their basis in myth and whimsy and b) the figures quoted to support the necessity of cuts were fundamentally incorrect as a result of either incompetence or dishonesty.

Form your preconception now, I shall not influence you either way.

The whole experience was not unpleasant and rather interesting and didn't feel a million miles away from The Thick Of It, although with the apparent abundance of American born assistants and staff there was a vague sense we had stumbled into a slightly shit spin off of The West Wing.
MSP Dave Thompson, who had arranged this meeting for us, has certainly proved himself in my eyes with his fierce and unshakeable support for this campaign. I salute you sir, if I can stomach my distaste for seperatist scottish nationalism I might even consider encouraging people to vote for you. Government needs impassioned public servants who are willing to fight for the little guy, regardless of party politics.
It seems only right to lay some praise upon Dave's gloriously enthusiastic and helpful assistant Hayley. She proved her worth admirably when she heard the news we had been stranded in Edinburgh overnight thanks to the bad weather, leaping into action to arrange a hotel for 2 of our number, the remainder being given refuge by the redoubtable Sam and Baker.

I doff my cap to these fellows for their lack of hesitation in offering 3 wayward souls a bed for the night and sharing their bread and beer.

I feel additional praise should be heaped on the lovely Emma on the pharmacy counter in the Princes Street branch of Boots who arranged some emergency medication for those who had been caught short by our predicament and to the gentlemen in the Carphone Warehouse who charged up our phones on Friday morning.

Ali, I'm sorry I ruined your day off by not getting to work on Friday. Believe it or not this was the most upsetting thing about being stranded down south.

Come Friday the weather had alleviated a touch and so we were able to return home via the scenic route - a six and a half hour train ride via Aberdeen.

As usual in a moment of (admittedly quite trivial) adversity, the silver lining of human decency and community spirit shone through. Even my faith in politics and politicians is beginning to grow. Almost makes it all worthwhile.

Oh yeah, we also got Lorraine Kelly to sign the petition. Top that.

Ban The Bull

It was with a vague mixture of surprise and pleasure that my eyes settled upon the front page of yesterday's Courier. Gracing the front of the paper was a large (out of focus) image of a can of Relentless energy drink, clutched in the pseudo-militant fist of a disgruntled mother. Her 13 year old son had apparently been sent home from school due to the severe level of the ill effects he was suffering due to drinking a can of said "energy" drink before school.

This woman, Ms Mackenzie (no relation), has successfully lobbied her local Scotmid to restrict sales of said drinks to customers who are 16 years old and over. They have imposed this ban on "underage" energy drinks sales with no legal obligation to do so.

Bravo I say. Those who spend more time than is healthy in my immediate proximity will have heard me ranting on this particular subject before. I have issues with so called "energy" drinks anyway but I find the combination of children and energy drinks especially loathsome. Hyperactive children are a pain in the ass generally with their fidgeting and squawking and all round annoyingness. Hyperactive children on Red Bull are a horse of an entirely different colour.

I had a can of Red Bull once. One can. Once. The resultant palpitations and sweats were enough to convince me there is no merit in the claim that it gives you metaphorical wings or even any energy. It just made me edgy and paranoid and left me feeling slightly in fear of a heart attack. Admittedly I seem to be particularly sensitive to caffeine. I don't (can't) drink coffee. It's probably not the effect it has on everyone. But what it definitely didn't do was give me any energy. If anything it left me feeling more tired and worn out.

Subsequently I have been told, although I have no evidence other than the word of a nutritionist, that caffeine over-stimulates your adrenal gland. This basically leaves your metabolism in a physical "panic" state which obviously is detrimental to your physical well being. I'm not sure about the basis for this theory but I do know that almost 2 years ago I cut out nearly all the caffeine consumption in my diet and felt much better for it. Even tea. It's all hippy herbal nonsense for me these days or caffeine free. But I digress.

The problem is less a physiological one for me and a mental one. A brat with a can of Red Bull believes that it is going to give him/her some magical stimulant effect and make them really hyper and mental like and in the truest placebo style they start to act up. It's similar to those experiments that were done where people were given what they thought was alcohol and the belief they were drinking alcoholic drinks led them to behave in a drunk manner, psychologically protected from how big a twat they are being by the belief they are drunk. Same thing with infant energy drink syndrome.

Symptoms of IEDS include (but are by no means limited to):

Fighting with posters out of the poster racks, moving CD and DVD header boards around in the sections because its OH SO FUNNY, pushing every button on the listening posts really hard just so you can push every button, loudly "singing" when listening to music on the headphones on the listening posts and giggling like a fanny at nothing.

Arguably they are similar to the symptoms of chronic marijuana abuse among older members of society but as Ms Mackenzie so righteously points out in the article in the Courier, energy drinks are a gateway drug to the harder highs of alcohol and illegal drugs. She is currently lobbying mp's and other retailers in an attempt to get a blanket ban on the underage sale of these drinks. Ms Mackenzie I salute you. More power to your elbow!

I want to ride my bicycle...

Or do I? My adventures on Shanks' Pony on Sunday led me to a renewed motivation to get back on my bike and start cycling to work again. I have had two aborted attempts this year already where I managed it on the Monday of the week and then found an excuse to stop by Tuesday. Some of these excuses are a lot more legitimate than others (atrocious weather being the main one) but they are all just ways of justifying my laziness to myself.

I think I might have cracked it this week. For the last two days I have cycled to work and feel infinitely better for it. It undoubtedly helps that for the last couple of days it has been bright and clear rather than dark and snowy which I find to be rather off putting if you plan to spend half an hour in it. It has however been lung searingly cold this week. Monday morning was a particularly savage assault on my respiratory system, not to mention any areas of exposed skin. It was bloody marvellous!

Although my out of condition legs actually hurt right now, and probably will until the end of the week, I can't stress enough how much better I feel for all this exercise. I am much more awake when I get to work, I sleep a lot more soundly. My appetite is massive but I burn off the extra calories and then some so I feel physically better. Slow, depressed and sluggish becomes quick, alert and enthusiastic. Listlessness turns to drive. Magic.

I've rounded out a day of physical exertion by watching the first episode of Underbelly. Regrettably it's a bit shit. Bad writing, bad acting and awful (not to mention pointless) narration. It's almost like an extended Crimewatch reconstruction but without the drama. Or maybe a late night edition of Home and Away. Everybody in it looks a little bit like somebody else, mostly British soap actors or minor celebrities. Perhaps whoever was responsible "was just trying to silence the devil voices in his head". That's an actual line from the actual show.

My devil voices are perfectly silent tonight, worn out and looking forward to a night of restful sleep. Just enough time for a Shameless before bed though...

Tragedy....

I had planned on a sermon on the joys of exercise this evening, however plans have changed.

Upon arriving home this evening I was met with a troubling sight. One of our tropical fish was lying on the substrate at the bottom of the tank, snout poked under a rock looking decidedly dead. Closer inspection revealed that this was in fact the case and so I had to remove the little fella from the tank and dispose of him. Now he's swimming along in fishy heaven.*

My immediate thought was that perhaps tank conditions might have done for him, but the remaining fish in the tank seem happy enough, temperature and so on all seemed stable (in the past we lost a tank full of Tiger Barbs to a catastrophic heater failure). As it turns out it was most likely natural causes.

We inherited the fish tank from the previous owners of our house who left the (built into the wall) fish tank when they moved, including it's inhabitants. This particular fish essentially came with the house when we bought it almost 5 years ago. Given that he was resident here before us it stands to reason that he was at least 5 years old when he popped his fins.

A quick delve into the average life span of Gourami fish suggests that they typically live for about 4 years. By this standard he had a good innings and was due to go at any moment. Unlike the fish that had become murderous in my parent's fish tank several years ago. The piscine equivalent of Ted Bundy, this fish had been systematically attacking and killing their other fish in the tank. Something needed to be done, or so I was informed. After a brief show trial that paid little heed to the concept of due process Bundy-fish was sentenced to death.

My initial appeals for a humane execution - in this case bag him up like a funfair goldfish and place the bag in the freezer where the gradual reduction in temperature would have resulted in painless unconsciousness then death - fell on deaf ears. Not quick enough I was told. Too drawn out. Do as the French do was the decision. Decapitation.

Further protests from me were again ignored. "Sounds a bit brutal" I said. "Are you sure you don't want to reconsider the freezer option?". The course of action had been decided however. Bundy-fish was to have his head hacked off. It transpired that while they were perfectly willing to decide Bundy's fate they were much more reluctant to carry out the sentence. "You need to do it" they said. Me. The main opponent of this course of action.

Some further to-ing and fro-ing occured. Eventually I gave in. Worn down by the insistence that I was the only person capable of doing the deed in an efficient and minimally cruel way I capitulated on the condition that once it was done none of us would speak of it again. A chopping board was prepared. The sharpest, heaviest kitchen knife I could find was selected. Bundy-fish was retreived from the tank. The one factor none of us had accounted for was that he would fight to cling on to life to the end. Overlooking the fact that a fish out of water flaps about all over the place was perhaps a mistake.

In the end it was a rather unpleasant ordeal, more so for Bundy-fish than I, admittedly. It was over fairly qickly though, the deed done and a heaviness in my heart for the fate of a poor wee fish that hadn't really done much wrong. Sullenly I cleared away the evidence and disposed of the body.

As if this wasn't enough, my mother took to calling me (alternately) "fish killer" and "murderer" for some months afterwards, despite her insistence to the contrary before I undertook the execution of the hapless fish. The futility of fighting this became apparent very quickly and despite her complicity in the murder of the fish, I decided to let it go. The incident was soon forgotten about, although it occasionally plays on my mind from time to time. Somewhat annoyingly a couple of months ago my parents were telling me about another fish that had to be "put down" for similar reasons. This time, they informed me, they were much more humane about it than I was and placed said fish in a bag of water, you know, funfair goldfish style, and put it in the freezer where it painlessly passed into a coma and died. What a brilliant idea. If only I'd thought of it all those years ago when Bundy-fish had to die. My outburst that followed this revelation is unrepeatable here.

The point to all this is simply that I'm a little bit surprised at the attachment that you can develop for a pet as ambient as a fish. They aren't cute, you can't stroke 'em and they don't run to greet you when you get home or fetch your slippers and or paper. I suppose they do have a personality of their own as such and the deceased from today's unfortunate turn of events was the finest specimen in the tank. He shall be missed.

* I should point out that as I am a staunch atheist I don't believe in heaven of any kind. I should probably also point out that as, in the Christian tradition at any rate, animals do not have souls they wouldn't go to heaven when they died anyway.

Walk It Off

Due to an excess of red wine last night I found myself leaving the car at my parents house and resorting to walking to work today. No great hardship really, I used to walk to work all the time and it only takes 45-50 minutes.

As it turns out, I'd forgotten how enjoyable a walk it is. Admittedly in nasty weather it can be rather unpleasant and a bit of a chore but this morning I was met with a crystal clear sky and that glorious golden liquid sunshine you get early in the morning. Beautifully cold crisp air cleared the mugginess of last night's indulgence. The wintry skeletons of the trees revealed a view across the Moray Firth as far as the snow capped hills of the Black Isle. Sometimes it's better to slow down and savour the world. Three deer were foraging in the stubbly, frosty grass in the fields by the Smithton roundabout. I've seen grouse and birds of prey that I'm not qualified to identify on the same route in the past. A murder of crows scavenging by the retail park. A blackbird the apparent victim of cat, a rabbit lying dead by the fenceline of the farmland next to the A96 gleaming with frost.

All of these things you miss when you move too quickly. The details. It lifted my mood tremendously, finally cracking the shadow cast by this seemingly endless and dark winter. Happy days.

Set me right up for the day. Had the most productive and enjoyable day at work I've had in a while and even now, although I'm bloody knackered, I'm feeling rather relaxed and happy.

It wasn't just the glory of nature that cheered me. Being the better part of an hour it's a prime opportunity to listen to some tunes, something that you can't really do (at least not safely) when you cycle and the drive doesn't last long enough to really get into some music. There's also some quality thinking and reflecting time where I sized up my life and decided that really on the whole I am happy and content and have little to complain about. Sorry if this seems a bit smug but it is actually true.

So I have spent the rest of the day in high spirits and brimming with zest for life. It's unlikely to last, my inherent cynicism will inevitably reassert itself in the next few days. I'd be surprised if Thursday wasn't a turning point when I will be taking Barbara down to Edinburgh to deliver the "Save The Highland Rheumatology Unit" petition to Nicola Sturgeon at the Scottish Parliament. I'm looking forward to this trip, somewhat surprisingly given my dim view of politicians generally. I think it is likely to either generate some faith in my soul for politics or snuff out the last embers of it. Either way it will be interesting to see how things turn out. Word on the street is we should get some tea and biscuits out of it. Paid for by the taxpayers. Get in.

9 more sleeps...

Pretty soon I'm going on holiday. It's a package holiday, to Tenerife of all places, all inclusive and completely not the sort of holiday I would normally sign up for. Normally I prefer to avoid resorts, faovouring the turn up somewhere and try to absorb some of the day to day normality of the place I'm visiting.

I'm looking forward to my week away immensely. My last holiday abroad was at the end of last summer and was less of a holiday as an intensive kung fu training session which was fantastic but not what I would call relaxing. My last week off work was last October when I took my customary "brace myself for christmas" week off to do nothing but skulk around the house playing xbox. I need a break.

Don't get me wrong. I love my job and have done so more or less consistently for the last 9 and a bit years. It poses it's own problems and is responsible for many of my frustrations but it's also a source of much joy and satisfaction. Right now though I'm finding it really tiring.

I'm convinced that it's the time of year. Almost everyone I know seems to be suffering the same level of mental fatigue and I have decided to put it down to a sense that this winter is never going to end. I can't figure out why this year is any different to previous ones. Maybe its the abnormal amount of snow, maybe its the recession, probably a bit of both. Hard to put my finger on. Whatever the cause it's bloody depressing.

So in 9 days time I will be kissing this winter goodbye for a week and swapping it for lounging by a swimming pool, in the sun, drinking beer. No work, no danger of being called by work as always happens when I'm on holiday. Just me, my lovely girlfriend and my stack of light holiday reading. This trips books include: "Last Man Off Bataan" by Carlos Romulo, "The Last Battle - Berlin 1945" by Cornelius Ryan and "The Invasion Of The Moon 1969" by Peter Ryan. If any of these are any good remains to be seen but I hope they are on a par with my current book of choice "Defence Of The Realm, An Authorised History of MI5".

Dry, dusty, factual and full of data. I love that in a book. I'm about a third of the way through it but it will eat up our luggage allowance so it won't be coming on holiday with me. Recently I have rediscovered my love of non-fiction, especially history, especially military history. I've been working my way through The World At War box set of late but I'm finding it difficult to find the time. It's a shame because I'd love to watch the whole thing from start to finish but at 30 odd hours that's a bit of a mission. I heartily recommend it though. Although I'm no expert I thought I knew a thing or two about World War 2 but as it turns out there's a great big bunch of stuff that I had no idea about. I love it.

So I have a week of lounging, eating, drinking and reading ahead of me. I cannae wait.

Dances With Smurfs

Imagine you just had a really vivid dream and in this dream you are a gibbon (funky or otherwise). Now imagine that in this dream you did the nasty with what (in your dream induced gibbon state) passes for the sexiest gibbon in the jungle. Then you wake up in the arms of said gibbon and realise it wasn't a dream.

I love happy endings.

In case you hadn't guessed by now I've just seen Avatar. I know I said I wouldn't but I did. You know, just to see "what all the fuss is about". If you haven't seen it and intend to I would advise strongly against it and suggest you read no further in case it spoils any surprises for you. Not that there are any.

In terms of plot there's not much to say really. It's basically Dune (off-worlders come to strip planet of valuable resources, one goes native, is subjected to the various rites and traditions of indiginous people, becomes their spiritual leader by riding the biggest baddest predator on the planet and then leads them in an uprising against the environment rapers) only in a jungle. Nice one Jim.

I'm more confused about the 3D element. This after all is going to change how we experience cinema forever. First off I had a toy when I was a kid that was a little binocular viewer. Into this you inserted discs that were basically little cardboard circles with tiny little slides in them. At the pull of a trigger on the contraption said disc rotated and a new slide slotted into place that was an amazing "3D" scene from a Disney film. I particularly remember Snow White. The effect was better than the 3D in Avatar but basically the same.

The result is hugely unsatisfying. It doesn't look real or make anything look solid. Granted there are some shots where it achieves quite a cool depth effect but only when nothing's moving against it. As soon as there is any action it just becomes distracting and looks a tad fake. Almost like one of those little paper theaters. In fact, South Park is about as three dimensional. The edge of the screen becomes a horrific barrier to your immersion in the visual effect and anything that hovers at the edge of the screen screams at your eyes to focus on it blowing the whole show.

There's also that weird "foiling" effect on the colour, especially with the live action bits. That was also distracting and very, very annoying. Any scene with rapid action (and there are a few) blurs beyond all comprehension and I got the sense Cameron was crossing his fingers and hoping nobody would have noticed this limitation of the technology.

I could go on all night (the film did). The whole thing reeks of somebody coming up with the technology first and then trying to find an idea to fit it, settling for a quick fix of rehashed ideas, paper thin characters and unsatisfying set pieces. There is nothing in it to justify it's 3 hour running time apart from lots of pointless extra shots to show off the tech at the expense of plot and pacing.

If you like any of the following things then maybe you should check it out:

Women marines using their breasts to stage a jailbreak, a lingering close up on Sigourney Weaver's Avatar's crotch whilst wearing tight shorts, inter-species sex, bald space marines who hate the natives, heavy handed moral messages, mechanised suits (not good ones I might add), six legged alien creatures and trees. Lots of trees. Oh yeah and a stereotypically "strong" female character who proves she's as hard as the boys. I think Cameron just has a thing for women in vests.

If, instead, you prefer films to have character, charm, story and emotion watch Pixar's Up instead. In fact, just watch Up and forget Avatar was ever made. You'll thank me for it later.

Good times, bad times...

What a week. What a grimly frustrating week. A shadow cast by a bad day at work on Thursday is yet to recede. Back in the day I would have simply got smashed to get past it and on Thursday night I attempted this to little effect. Why is it that when you really want to get drunk no amount of alcohol seems to do the trick?

Good things about this week: Got our tickets for our holiday. A week in Tenerife, all inclusive relaxing in the sun. Not my normal style but I think necessary for the regaining of my own sanity. I suspect a week of splendid isolation from the day to day will do the power of good. Also, ordered new glasses which will be ready on Wednesday.

This second one is a bit of a bugbear of mine. I haven't bought new glasses in over 3 years. Largely because I haven't needed to. My prescription has stayed the same for about 10 years. The thing that properly messes with my head is the ridiculousness of a legal requirement to get an eye test every couple of years if you want to buy glasses.

The arguments in favour of this are rational and sort of make sense. The idea is that you should get your eyes examined every couple of years because it can show up early warning signs of various medical conditions (diabetes for example) that would otherwise go undetected. There's also a spurious claim that your vision might have deteriorated without you noticing. I don't buy this at all. Surely you would notice that things are out of focus? It's quite easy to tell. If things that should have sharp edges don't, you can't see properly.

Anyway. I need new glasses. The ones I am wearing, the only pair I currently own, are falling to bits. The legs are bandy, one of the little nose pad things are missing and they constantly slip down my face. The fact they've taken a few knocks during my kung fu training probably hasn't helped. I need new ones. Urgently. So I had to go and book an eye test (reassuringly free in Scotland) and then order new specs. Had to wait over a week for an eye test, then another 4 days for the glasses. So I have had to spend 2 weeks with decrepit and uncomfortable eye wear due to the fact I cannot just buy a pair of glasses to my own specification.

Oh it's for my own good is it? Well guess what, eye test in the bag and no problems found. No deteriation in vision and no diseases or malfunctions. I am however a "failed" contact lense wearer. This was changed in my records to "unsuccessful" at my request as I couldn't help but feel it was the lenses that failed me rather than the other way round. So I have had to wait two weeks for new glasses for no reason.

And what about all the people that don't wear glasses? Nobody makes them have eye tests every two years. Are they not as susceptible to the same diseases and illnesses and eye problems as glasses wearers? Surely someone who has to wear glasses is inherently more aware of changes in their vision and problems with their eyes? It doesn't make any sense. Needless bureaucracy disguised as worrying about peoples welfare.

My solution to this week is to mollify my troubled spirit with red wine and good food. Usually does the trick. We shall see.

The rage is relentless....

If there's something that really grinds my gears it's insolent little middle class twats. Spoilt brats with little or no respect for anyone or anything else and no concept of the value of manners and hard work. With their trousers that stop where their back pockets should be and their backwards hats and their bmx bikes.

I must confess that tonight I had a bit of a moment. My car horn may have been sounded (although legitimately - I had to assume that the little shitbag hadn't seen me, why else would he have put his bmx and his idiot self in the way of my car) and I may have applied my brakes suddenly and violently and I may have intended to get out of the car. Luckily my Andy wrangler was in attendance and so normal service was resumed.

However.

I am yet to settle down. Conflicted by the fact that I lost control, something I'm never proud of and the fact that a good hiding would probably have done the little arseholes some good, I am left with a mild adrenaline spike and a sense of disdain for the populous at large.

Thankfully all this is alleviated by the knowledge that when the apocalypse comes, whatever form (zombies/virus/nuclear/etc) it takes, this bracket of human society will have the least chance of survival and thus be effortlessly removed from the gene pool. It seems to me highly improbable that a spoilt brat who probably can't even work a washing machine will stand much chance if they have to master a harsh, unforgiving, post-apocalyptic environment. Unless of course mummy and daddy and the Range Rover survive intact too. And perhaps the butler.

You'll get yours, you wait and see. You and your stupid little bikes.

You live and learn....

Although sometimes apparently you die and teach.

William Hunter and William Smellie (stop that tittering). Two names that would be utterly meaningless to me had I not just read an article about them. Apparently they were giants of medicine, pioneering midwifery and obstetrics. Good on 'em. Except that despite being revered by the medical community for the last quarter of a century or so they were allegedly hip deep in the murky world of "burking".

A word I was also unaware of up until this evening. Derived from the infamous Burke and Hare it refers to the practice of murdering people at the request of anatomists in order to further their understanding of biology and human anatomy. It was alleged that the reason Hunter and Smellie were so well informed of the human biology behind pregnancy and childbirth was because they had a steady supply of freshly killed pregnant women to dissect. Not so good on 'em.

That got me thinking about ends and means. I don't know enough about these two medicine men/serial killers to speak with any kind of authority on their achievements. The impression I got from the article was that their discoveries and developments were still in use today and presumably as a result mothers and babies that would otherwise have perished during childbirth have survived. If there was a way to quantify the number of lives these two men have saved with their research would it be reasonable to use this as a basis to justify the method of obtaining their data?

Historian Don Shelton, who has presented this theory, suggests that between them Hunter and Smellie were responsible for the deaths of 35-40 pregnant woman and of course their unborn children. Even if their findings only saved the lives of 1 woman and child a year over the last 250 years it still gives you a ratio of more than 6:1 in favour of burking. I suspect the real numbers would be considerably higher.

But does that make it ok? It certainly puts stem cell research and animal testing into a certain kind of perspective. If you had the choice would you delete all the knowledge and expertise that has developed off the back of the work done by these men if it meant the 35-40 alleged murder victims would have been spared? If you are morally outraged at the process of learning these things should you be morally outraged at the implementation of their methods of care?

I don't have the answers incidentally, just asking the questions.

It made me think about all the other things we know and use on a daily basis. Not just medical knowledge but the food we eat, the machines we use and so on. It made we wonder what the hidden costs of all these things are. As a species we are so dazzled by progress we don't stop to ask where it has come from and at what cost. Even if we did I don't imagine if we ever found out 15 people were murdered to develop the iPod any of us would wan't to go back to using portable CD players. Again, even if we did we would probably then uncover a string of kneecappings to develop the CD.

We know it goes on. We know things are cheap these days because workers are exploited. We know those knock off designer goods or pirate dvds are being sold by the same organisations who traffic people for prostitution or other similarly serious crimes. Blind eyes are turned because these issues don't directly affect us and there is the upside of making our lives more convenient and comfortable. The vast majority of people make a deliberate choice not to acknowledge these things. I'm quite sure the same attitude must have existed 250 years ago.

Surely somebody must have found it a little bit odd that the two leading researchers into the anatomy of childbirth had a steady stream of heavily pregnant corpses upon which to carry out their research. Surely they must have known that women were being killed in the name of science. Undoubtedly the thought of the benefits of such research was reason enough to not ask too many questions and dig too deeply.

The question is though, would it do any good to open our eyes to these things? Could we do without the day to day knowledge and technology of this world in order to appease our moral compass?

Have a think gonnae, and let me know?

Thank goodness for days off....

So nothing matters then eh?

I suppose that is a question of perspective. From the outside looking in, from the position of the infinite universe nothing does. But swap sides, look out from the bubble then woaaahhhh nelly! Everything takes on a new level of importance.

My plan for today, my day off, was to drop the missus off in Dingwall where some MSPs were coming to fact-find about the rheumatology unit at around 11.30 then head home and spend the day catching up on my unwatched DVDs and playing Call of Duty until my eyes bled. Next thing you know it's 6 o'clock and I've had a lovely lunch (in The Courtyard - I'd highly recommend it) and spent an afternoon speaking to politicians and being asked for my views on the threatened cuts to services at the unit.

I'm not going to use this blog as a political lobbying tool but if you are interested in this as a subject check out their petition: http://www.gopetition.com/petitions/no-cuts-to-highland-rheumatology-unit/sign.html

My point is this. I hold a very dim view of politicians. I believe quite firmly that anybody who enters the world of politics with good and noble intentions is soon subsumed into the seedy world of favours and personal ambition. I've seen The Thick Of It. I know the score. It remains to be seen what happens next, one at least has pledged his support to the cause and has given us lots of advice on how to proceed. Seems genuinely interested in helping based on a sense of what's right and proper and not what will further his personal ambitions.

Rationally I know I shouldn't be surprised but sometimes I see the world through Daily Mail tinted glasses. It remains to be seen how much good all this will do and if the crisis looming over the rheumatology unit can be averted. I hope it can be and if so it will probably instill a little bit of faith in humanity in me. That'd be a first.

So what was intended on being a relaxing day of pointless leisure pursuits turned into a day of fighting the power. A much more productive and dare I say it important use of my time I think and an interesting insight into how things operate.

And so it begins....

Nothing matters. None of it.

This isn't defeatism or emo-esque bleating mind. It's just a simple, beautiful fact.

A couple of years ago my girlfriend and I were on holiday in New York and happened to visit the Planetarium in the Natural History Museum. I would highly recommend it. Not only is it home to the comfiest seating I've ever experienced in a public place but you then get treated to a spectacular simulation of the entire life of our universe from the big bang to it's (I presume largely theoretical) end. All narrated in a matter of fact, yet strangely soothing, tone by Robert Redford. So soothing in fact that at least one visitor nodded off. I reckon he probably missed the best bit.

While the Sundance Kid expounded the glories of the big bang, infinitely expanding universe and other such mind blowing science it dawned on me just how truly insignificant the Earth and by association the entire human race actually is. Talk about your Total Perspective Vortex. At one point they highlighted the Earth in the vastness of galaxies that make up our universe. You couldn't even see it. The life span of our solar system was spelled out relatively to the life span of the universe. I'm pretty sure the neurons firing in my brain can't work fast enough to comprehend how short it is.

There it was. Epiphany. None of it matters. In an absolutely wonderful way. We destroy ourselves in a global thermonuclear war? Doesn't matter. From out there looking in the difference in life span is unquantifiably small.

Yet in spite of this I have decided to do something I have on many occasions said I would not do. Start a blog. From here on in I have decided to spew forth my idiotic ramblings into the public domain. Will anybody read them? I don't know.

It doesn't matter, remember?