christmas

Special Investigation: Is Santa really a pharmacist?

Despite him being one of the most famous people on the planet, we know a suspiciously small amount about Santa Claus's background. I've had the suspicion for some time that he may in fact be a pharmacist throughout the rest of the year. 

A quick check of the GPhC register brings up no S. Claus’s, though of course that only rules out pharmacy practice in theUK. Unfortunately it would seem thatLapland does not have a similarly searchable pharmacist register, so we are unable to confirm his registration status in his home country. However, if Santa were to be working overseas, it would seem that Your Family Pharmacy, 15 N Kringle Place, Santa Claus, Indiana would be his first choice, especially given its prime location near to Lake RudolphCamping Park. (honestly, this place exists)

Santa is, of course, most famous for operating a highly efficient free delivery service. No doubt these skills have been honed throughout the rest of the year, as he organises a prescription collection and free delivery service to his patients.

As the song goes: “He’s making a list, he’s checking it twice”, demonstrating that Santa is following robust self-checking procedures. It is clear that he has the sort of attention to detail that is required by pharmacists. It’s also clear from this song that he is aware of NICE guidelines.

It seems clear that Santa’s system of working, is synonymous of that in a community pharmacy. He works alongside a team of highly skilled and well trained elves, though retaining legal responsibility for all that goes on in his workshop. One assumes that, on visiting the workshop, his Responsible Father Christmas sign is clearly displayed.

Perhaps the most convincing evidence is that of his links with the Coca Cola company. Santa has a long history of advertising the product, adding a splash of red and a liberal helping of fur to his usual pharmacy white coat. Its good to see that Santa is so devoted to advertising the invention of  fellow pharmacist John Pemberton, who originally invented the drink as a cure for his own morphine addiction. Santa is clearly interested in harm reduction and no doubt works closely with local drug and alcohol teams during the rest of the year to dispense opioid replacement therapies for patients.

Santa Claus, however, does have some flaws as a pharmacist. As discussed in the BMJ, he appears to pose a number of public health risks, including as a vector for infectious diseases, and in the promotion of drink-driving. It would seem that he would benefit from a visit to his nearest Healthy Living Pharmacy, where he can access advice on reducing his weight and brandy intake. It is good to note that he successfully quite smoking and seems to have remained abstinent.

Hxxx

The difference a year makes

“Maybe this Christmas will mean something more
Maybe this year love will appear
Deeper than ever before”
— -Tracey Thorn, Maybe This Christmas

This time last year, I was writing this post, collecting together songs that I felt best summarised why I find Christmas such an emotional time.

Of course, I’ve been listening to that playlist on repeat for weeks this year too, but it sounds different to me this time round. Its transformed from a quietly melancholic collection to one of optimism.

This time last year, I was steadfastly single. I refused to believe in love in the same way I used to do in the past. I had never even said the word to anyone else (except for friends) for years. I was stubbornly resisting the advances of a man who I knew to be very wonderful, on the basis that I would likely just mess it all up anyway and hurt him, given that I was, in my own head, such an awful and cynical heartless monster who would clearly ruin his life.

Luckily, my willpower (helped along by a fair amount of beer) failed me eventually and we went on a date in January. This is probably the best decision I have made, ever. What has followed has been better than I could have ever imagined. I’ve gone from refusing to acknowledge the L-word to telling him many, many times a day that I love him. He puts up with me and my mood swings, is happy to leave me alone when I need social recharge time, and is just really quite marvellous. He makes me laugh despite his cracker joke-level sense of humour, gives great hugs, and most importantly buys me Lego. For the first time in blummin’ yonks, I feel safe, and like I’ve come home.

“So happy new year, this is the one we talked about and
Happy New Year, this is where it all works out
This is where is comes together and everything comes through
Happy ever after all comes true”
— -Simma, Happy New Year

So going into this new year, everything seems different. We’re moving into a new house together, and I really can’t wait. The cat and the hamster have double-barrelled surnames. I have a new job lined up, though it’s in the same centre and will involve moving a mere several metres across the office to a different desk. I still worry that it’ll all come crashing down at some point, but I’m managing to keep those thoughts in check and just enjoy it all for the most part.

Hopefully I’m not sounding too smug here. I just want you all to know about the good things that happen, since I tell you probably far too much about the bad stuff. I’ve had some amazing e-mails in the past from readers who have been through similar experiences to me, and I’d like you to know that things can change and can end up even being miles better than they ever were before.

I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas and New Year. I know this time of year can be really hard for some. I send my love and hugs to you. 

Hxxx

Lychnobite, by Simma: An album review.

There is a particular pub in Gateshead which I rather like. It’s called The Central Bar and it holds good memories for me. It’s a traditional haunt for my good friends and I on Christmas Eve, it has an excellent range of beers, and does some good nosh too.

And so it was that on one particular Sunday afternoon just before Christmas, three friends and I were in there. We were suitably adorned in tacky, sparkly Christmas attire and were festively tipsy, when a chap started playing his acoustic guitar and singing in the corner of the pub.

Given our rather jolly state at the time, we showed our appreciation of this man’s lovely voice by bellowing along to some of the songs and inventing new interpretive dance routines to others (And thus, the great Gateshead Sit Down dance was born). We were a source of amusement for the singer, who declared that he’d never had anyone invent dances for him before and patiently explained that no magic was at play when we had loudly declared that we wanted him to play Fairytale Of New York then he actually did, prompting us to look drunkenly confused. “Girls, I’m not on the radio you know. I can actually hear you.” It was a really fun afternoon, and we left giggling hysterically and wondering if we could ever show our faces in there again.

The singer in question was Simma, and I’ve since seen him play several times. He fairly recently released his new album, Lychnobite, so I snapped up a copy of it and thought I would review it for you dear people.

On first listen, it’s on the whole a cheery affair, with upbeat tunes perfect for having on in the background while you do something else. Subsequent listens via headphones reveal a more melancholic, complex side to the album.

A particular highlight for me is “Black Dog”, a song about depression which combines a nifty little toe-tapping rhythm with an almost monotonous melody. This makes for an atmospheric juxtaposition, much like the illness itself. Next up is the joyous “Sing”, a marching, uplifting little song that I tend to happily belt out when I have it on at home.

Other songs are more calmly folky, all with a touch of cleverness to the songwriting that I find really pleasing. There is a clever use of vocals throughout the album (see Whisky Highway as an example), something which I find quite pleasingly different, given my previous experience of Simma is limited to him and one guitar in the corner of the Central Bar

“The Drink” is gorgeous, plaintive, and full of feeling. Meanwhile, “Sixteen Tons” is bluesy and pleasingly cynical, managing to blend together a very American sound with tales of Benwell woe. “Happy New Year” is likely to make its way onto my Christmas Songs For The Existentially Wounded list this year, with its mix of optimism and sadness for times gone by.

The other thing that I really like about Simma is how his Geordie accent creeps into the edges of his songs, lending them a little bit of added personality. All in all, this is a lovely, complicated album which is likely to be on heavy rotation in my household, nestled in nicely between Great Lakes by John Smith and Under Mountains by Rachel Sermanni. 

Hxxx

A Christmas Dinner Conversation

Hi all,

Hope you all had a lovely festive period, whatever religion (or lack of) you may follow.

I spent christmas day with my parents and remaining grandparents, and thought I'd regale you with the tale of part of our christmas dinner conversation.

Having been asked what I was doing in life at the moment, one of the things that was mentioned was the Newcastle Skeptics in the Pub talk that my good friend and Helper Dog Nancy and I are doing in February. This prompted Mum to state that she thought that homeopathy might work, after all plants had been used for many years in medicine. Now, I have written before about the case of the magic crystals, and do remember mum trying homeopathic remedies on me as a child (out of desperation due to my awful car sickness. Out of interest, I also remember them not working) when I was a bit older, so this stopped me short. I do have a suspicion that the majority of users of homeopathy have little knowledge of how it is made, and therefore no idea how unreasonable it is to expect it to work. And here was living proof that this was, indeed the case. Dad was aware of the like-cures-like principle, but they had no idea at all of the serial dilutions used in homeopathy.

Cue a demonstration (involving wine), and an explanation that beyond 12C there is virtually no likelihood of any molecules of the "active" ingredient appearing, and the general consensus was that they were amazed at this turn of events, and couldn't understand how on earth it could work and how anyone could possibly be taken in by such nonsense. 

And so it seems to me that a general lack of good information about what homeopathy is, and what the principles of it are, may well be responsible for the majority of people who may believe it still works.

What do you think? I wonder if there is any way to measure this? If you have any ideas, do give me a shout.

Hxxx