Dr. Commuter talks about...Your Health

 Dr. Commuter writes: we all worry about our health and our lifestyle. Here is a typical cry for help from a major national newspaper.

I assume the author might use a pseudonym such as "Bloodshot of Manchester" and I will address myself directly to him. 

First, you are right to raise these questions. Why indeed should we sleep well, keep ourselves fit and eat sensibly? Why, would ask Bloodshot, (if I may make a further, perfectly fair assumption about his lifestyle), is it wrong to go on a 48 hour bender lying slumped in an armchair drinking vodka and gorging on doughnuts? And I am sure we have all done this sort of thing many times.

The problem is that we are, basically, animals. We share virtually identical DNA with molluscs. And animals do indeed sleep, eat food suitable for their circumstances and remain active. Naturally, we need to do the same. 

We sleep because otherwise we get what we doctors call  "tired" and then we start  nodding off whilst driving up the M1 and then there can be unpleasant consequences, insurance premium- wise. Also one can so easily doze off during The Archers and never find out just what it was the new owner of The Bull was arrested for. We need our kip, Bloodshot, to function properly and now you know why selling your mattress to buy all those doughnuts was money wasted.

Some may say exercise is bunkum. But consider this - your arm and shoulder muscles need to be worked and kept in good condition, able to lift objects and to raise them to an appropriate height, such as close to your lips. Otherwise how are you going to be able to enjoy a pint of beer? I know that vodka is your normal tipple but surely from time to time you take a break? Do you really want to be facing your friends, each with a foaming tankard held effortlessly to their mouths, while you strain even to lift yours from the table? No, Bloodshot, such things will lower your esteem in Manchester. Keep your body healthy and it will repay you with many hours of such pleasurable activities without aching limbs afterwards.

As for your diet, we doctors have found that eating more than you burn up through normal daily activities tends to increase your weight and lower your general state of health. So don't, OK?

In summary, I know my conclusions are highly controversial and may be considered, by some, to be far from the mainstream. But I stand by them. Sleep well, exercise and eat sensibly. That is my prescription for a healthy life.

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Readers! My new book, Dr. Commuter's Guide to Sleeping Well, Exercising to Keep Fit and Eating Sensibly (Title may be shortened in due course) is available to pre-order now. Send just £48 plus VAT, packing charge, service fee, insurance and slush fund contribution to the usual address and we will rush you your copy just as soon as you have agreed to the terms and conditions, and it is written, printed and ready for distribution.

Terms and Conditions apply. The reasons why paying an extra £25, plus VAT etc etc to purchase these are fully explained in my leaflet Why buying my terms and conditions is a thumpingly good idea and this may be easily obtained for just £16 etc.  

 

The Farage Farrago

 On 13th August the voters of Clacton will choose an MP. The by-election was caused by the resignation of their sitting member, Nigel Farage. Farage, no stranger to this column, was elected in 2024 with 46% of the vote and had a majority of 8,405. He wished to make a grand gesture of defiance to what he calls the establishment because he had been subject to parliamentary scrutiny in highly suspect financial transactions that appear to confirm what many have long believed: Our man is up to his eyes in corruption and is bankrolled by wealthy tax exiles with a deep contempt for multicultural, tolerant Britain. By resigning, Farage forced the investigation to go into abeyance pending his return.

 What Nige wanted was for the other main parties to run against him. His electoral victory would then show that he had the people behind him and would put his detractors on the defensive. But at this point the cunning plan failed.  Labour, The Conservatives, the Libdems  and the Greens declined to field candidates. Instead a vast number of independents are standing. Usually they would attract no attention but one of them is special. He has stood in many elections, and I encountered him as a candidate in 2019 when he stood against part-time prime minister B. Johnson in my own constituency of Uxbridge and South Ruislip. He runs as "Count Binface", wears a metal bucket on his head at all times and claims to be from a galactic civilisation far, far away.

 Binface's manifesto in 2019 featured a pledge to sort out the position of the hand-dryer in the men's toilets at the Crown & Treaty pub in Uxbridge. That, amongst certain other factors, got him my vote.

Usually Binface and the like attract little media attention and few votes, but somehow his candidature came at just the right time and an astonishing opinion poll a few days ago showed that more people would like him to win in Clacton than those favouring Farage. 

Source: Ipsos

 Binface has been endorsed by outgoing prime minister Keir Starmer and ex-Chancellor Rachel Reeves, and by LibDem leader Ed Davey. Let us examine his manifesto for Clacton in full

Source: Instagram

 

 Point 20 is the most important - the hand-dryer has not been forgotten. The good Count has not broken his promise made to me and my neighbours in beautiful Ruislip. Points 4, 5 and 15 are also worth noting.

Of course, given the nature of this by-election loads of others are having a go. In fact there are more candidates than at any election in the UK, ever. Here is the list:

Source: BBC

It will be fascinating to see if Binface can get more votes than all the other no-hopers combined. I don't expect him to topple Nige, although no less an authority than ABC Australia thinks he might

Source Youtube

 and you can watch for yourself if you wish.

Let us see what the next fortnight brings. 

 Note: This article originally stated that the election was on 6th August. Full responsibility for this error has been attributed to the editor of this blog, who has been admonished and had his biscuit with tea privileges withdrawn for a day.

Dr. Commuter advises ... Network Rail

 

Dr. Commuter writes: We are fortunate to live in a country where our transport signage is reasonably well-adjusted and coherent, signs that live quiet and responsible lives, happy to impart the information that we need with a minimum of fuss. But sometimes it is necessary to remove complacency and reinvigorate these soporific and hidebound indications, injecting fresh energy into them and contributing to the richness of everyday travel. It is not surprising, therefore, that Network Rail should seek to make their low bridge signs more confused.

There are several measures to be taken. Firstly, the low bridge signs should be removed and placed where the bridges are high, so high in fact that absolutely no warning need be given to any road user. This will achieve a double state of confusion - the signs themselves will be baffled as to why they are placed where they are useless and the approaching drivers will be scratching their chins, baffled as to why a railway bridge with 30m of clearance carries a warning. 

Another method is to paint the text of the signs in the same colour as the background colour. The sign is still there but its message is rendered invisible. 

If this has not created sufficient confusion, I recommend that a different message take the place of the original text. Thus "Beware of the giraffes" or perhaps "No bishops beyond this point". 

I trust there is sufficient here for the action to be taken and let's hope that low bridge signs up and down the country are rendered highly confused for the duration.

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If you have any questions for Dr. Commuter, do please write to the usual address. We are able to baffle, bemuse and befuddle any sign, notice or poster for a small fee. Terms and conditions are available but are in such a deranged state that, quite frankly, it is not woth your time trying to understand them.

Roasting

 I've posted about heatwaves before. But this week is shaping up to be diabolical. Consider this forecast on the BBC on Monday 22 June for London.

Some other forecasters suggest highs close to 40c. Temperatures at this level are currently experienced in southern and central Europe and the bulge of extremely hot air is moving north.

It will be a little easier in beautiful Warwickshire where I now live and quite comfortable in Northumberland, where, by a staggering stroke of luck, I and Mrs C. happen to be on holiday. 

I shall update this post over the next few days and we will see if some of the more apocalyptic scenarios play themselves out.

Update: Tuesday 23

Very pleasant for us, touring around the Etal estate, the site of the bloody battle of Flodden and the almost chilly (when the sea breeze was blowing) Lindisfarne. The hottest part of the day (28c) was when we returned to our hotel in the late afternoon. 

Meanwhile in France: 42c in Bordeaux and 40 people said to have died from drowning caused by going into cold rivers and lakes.  At home, a violent electrical storm struck London, which did indeed reach the 36c forecast. Many schools are closed. And a man called Burn'em is about to replace Starmer as Labour leader and prime minister. Seems appropriate.

Update: Wednesday 24

We visited Alnwick Castle and Cragside (the most advanced house in terms of mod cons at the end of the 19c), and it was very comfortable sitting outside in the shade.

Meanwhile, here is the headline in The Guardian:

UK records its hottest June day, beating highs from 1957 and 1976

Temperature of 35.8C recorded in West Sussex, beating previous record of 35.6C, while France records hottest day nationally

Update: Thursday 25

A delightful day on the Northumbrian coast, with gorgeous sunshine and temperatures in the low 20s. We were at Bamburgh Castle with a little fog rolling in to obscure the sea view and then at Warkworth Castle where the stiff breeze almost made it feel chilly. 

And here is how the BBC summarised the UK at the end of the day:

• The UK record for the hottest June day has been broken for the second day in a row, with 36.7C provisionally recorded in Merryfield, Somerset
• It's also been the hottest day of the year so far in Wales (35.6C), Scotland (31.2C) and Northern Ireland (30C)
• Meanwhile, a hosepipe ban is introduced for around 850,000 customers in Kent, and at least six NHS trusts in England have declared critical incidents
• A red weather warning for extreme heat has been extended into Friday for London and parts of south-east England - the first time it has been issued for three consecutive days

Update: Friday 26

Warm and sunny up to mid- afternoon in Northumberland, then a distinct cooling, a strengthening breeze, much rumbling of thunder and finally rain and lightning to accompany our tea. 

 

Update: Saturday 27 

And so homewards, watching the outside temperature creep steadily up as we cruised down the A1 and the M1. The countryside seemed fairly normal for the time of year, maybe a few fields more bleached out than usual. Back to a very stuffy house and a rest.

And as a postscript, what the heat did to the tram tracks in Essen

 

The Man Without the Golden Boot

The Guardian

 

James Bond sat at his desk, contemplating an easy day ahead. Perhaps a long lunch, then take the Bentley down to Sussex and, after a round of golf, some relaxation with Felicity. Or Fiona. Or...the red telephone buzzed and he was instantly alert.
"Right away, please". It was Miss Moneypenny, M's fearsome secretary. Bond snapped to his feet and made his way to the eighth floor.
"Morning, gorgeous" he began as he opened the door but she was tight-lipped "He's waiting, James". Bond shrugged and went straight in to the room beyond.

"Sit down 007". M, a half-smoked cheroot held absently in his left hand, gestured to the chair and Bond, without a word, knowing that something very big was up, obeyed. "Now then, 007, we have a crisis. Last night the entire kit of the England football team was stolen."

"Surely that's impossible" Bond blurted and M nodded "As heavily guarded as the crown jewels but nonetheless it happened. CIA are clamping down on the news but it will break in a day or so. We've got to get that kit back before then or God knows what may happen. Big match coming up. You know what might follow if we lose. Smithers at the Bank of England thinks there could be a run on the pound, or worse. Bond, you're on the next plane to Miami."
"On my way, sir"

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The big black car rolled to a stop outside the airport terminal. Bond took a seat in the back and the car moved off at once, expertly driven through the heavy lunchtime traffic. Bond turned to the short man in the grey suit sitting beside him
"Good to see you again, Felix" he said. His old CIA partner Felix Leiter smiled "And you, you old bastard. Now I don't know what they told you, James, but this thing has got us beat. Who the hell would take such a risk for some soccerball gear? FBI have found the truck and we're going there right now"

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The U-Haul truck was by the side of the road in a deserted industrial park, back doors open revealing the emptiness within. Forensic teams were working in and around it. Bond and Leiter looked it over. 
"Anything?" Leiter asked the head of the unit. "Nothing sir, they just hijacked the truck, drove it here, used a jemmy on the doors and took everything. We're baffled"
Bond strolled around to the cab. His eyes narrowed and he reached in under the driver's seat.
"Felix, look at this"
"What is it James?"
"A book of matches. Marked 'Magumbo Club'. Know it?"
"I sure do, James. Hangout for every hoodlum and two-bit grifter in downtown Miami. Owner is a Mr Flobeld"
"Let's get over there. Pronto"

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"So Mr Bond, we meet again". The man in the swivel chair was facing away from Bond as he and Leiter were pushed into the dark room at the back of the Magumbo Club, half a dozen guns held on them by the impassive, kilted and tartan-clad henchmen. It had been easy to penetrate the club and, while Leiter distracted the barmen with a simple conjuring trick, Bond had slipped into the corridor behind in search of clues, but it had been a trap.The henchmen were waiting for them.

"Again? We've met before?" Bond said, mind racing as he tried to think where he recognised the voice of the sinister club owner.
"We have, Mr Bond. I was going by the alias of Delflob then".  Bond, his eyes narrowed, narrowed them further "Lledbof. Angus McCameron Partick Thistle Lledbof. The man who wanted to flood England with fake porridge. The man who tried to steal the stone of Scone by replacing it with a rock of Crumpet.  I should have guessed. And these Scottish hoods - there was only one team that Scotland really worried about and stealing the England kit was the obvious way to unsettle them. You knew that, if they had to play in new boots, they would all get blisters."
"Precisely, Mr Bond. And I have also bet a considerable amount of money on England losing. Not only will I be well in with the SNP when they finally take power, but I shall be able to afford that little BnB just outside Arbroath that I have always wanted. But I'm afraid neither you nor Mr Leiter will be able to stay there. Ha ha. Ha ha ha"

Editor's note. The manuscript ends here. Did Bond escape? Did he manage to have a restful few days at the little BnB just outside Arbroath anyway? Did England win anything? Alas, we shall never know.