Another A and E Display

I cannot seem to go to Accident and Emergency without putting on a show.

Last time, I vomited blood over the reception desk, this time I fainted on the way out.

I had gone in with a nosebleed, had it cauterised, then got up to go home rather sooner than I should have done.

Coloured spots crowded in from the edge of my vision, I heard someone say “Are you all right, mate?” and I lost the ability to operate my legs properly.

Several people were round me, and I found that I was on a trolley, angled so that the blood flowed to my head.

They took my blood pressure, which was 70 something over 40 something, which is pretty low.

They wheeled me up to the ear, nose and throat ward and kept me in for 24 hours bed rest. The full length surgical stockings they made me wear were very fetching, with an interesting marbled effect caused by my hairy legs.

My bed was near the nurses’ desk, so every change of shift I overheard the nurses telling the newcomers about Robert Muir, who had been cauterised and fainted on the way out. I don’t blame them for laughing.

Everyone involved and the hospital food were great. There was a free hour’s bedside television between 8 and 9 AM.

The biggest revelation was that they now use thermometers that they draw across the forehead and down the cheek to take a reading. How does that work? It makes me feel like I’m living in the 21^st Century.

Celtic Smiths

My surname, Muir, is Celtic, but three of my four grandparents were born with Anglo-Saxon surnames: Smith, Pearson and Marshall. I therefore assumed I was one quarter Celtic, three-quarters Anglo-Saxon.

Recently, I discovered that after the Battle of Culloden, many Scots changed their surnames to Smith to escape persecution. This is one of the reasons why Smith is the most common surname in Scotland.

So I could be half Celtic, or more if some changed their names to Pearson or Marshall for the sake of variety.

Those who kept the surname, Muir, must have been living so obscurely that nobody bothered them, fought for the winning side, or were too stubborn to change.

When DNA testing kits are sold for about £10 at Lidl, I will have to test myself to see just how Celtic I am.

*

Ancestry Update

Many years ago, I fell into conversation with some Austrians in Jugoslavia, before it became Croatia. I explained that I was wearing a shirt and trousers while everyone else was in T shirts and shorts because I tanned unevenly, developing dark patches on my arms and shoulders. One of the Austrians nodded and said, "Vikinger problem".

I have discovered that he was probably right. I assumed that "Pearson" was an Anglo-Saxon name, but it turns out that the "Son" suffix is Viking. So as well as being descended from Celts, Anglo-Saxons and the unrecorded people who had rhesus negative blood, I am part Viking. Oh, well, the more the merrier. Hybrid vigour and all that sort of thing.

But most people in the British Isles can say the same, and if you go back far enough, we are all originally Africans. Some researchers believe that all us Europeans have a bit of Neanderthal in us as well. So we should regard the memory of the Neanderthals with a bit more respect, rather than thinking of them as a bunch of idiots.

Britain’s Most Agile Man

The finalists in the Britain’s Strongest Man competition ranged in height from five foot nine to six foot six, which compares to my five foot ten. I fall within their height range, an inch taller than the “Pocket Rocket”.

However, I weigh ten and a half stone, so I’m about half the weight of the strongmen. This set me wondering if any athletes shared my height and weight.

Today, I stumbled across someone who matches me exactly. She’s one of the world’s top volleyball players.

Last time I saw one of my aunts, she told me I needed to gain half a stone. Now I can riposte that I’m built like an athlete, though I probably won’t specify which one

Face Recognition

My mild narcissism prompted me to use a face recognition program to compare my face to those of a database of famous people. I look most like Raymond Chandler.

I also look like a couple of actors, Jesse McCartney and Adam Goldberg, Palestinian politician Mahmoud Abbas, Stephen Jay Gould, James Randi, Wim Wenders, Meryl Streep, Japanese cartoonist Hayao Miyazaki and Pablo Neruda.

They look like a random collection of names, although I do believe Raymond Chandler could pass for one of my relatives.

I am delighted to count Meryl Streep among my look-alikes. I never thought she was particularly attractive, but I googled some images of her and changed my mind. One, by Brigitte Lacombe, showed her smiling at the camera. Deeply beautiful. Best looking actress in the world.

Personality Tests

Now I understand what happened to me when I joined the Labour Party in the early 1980’s. I was elected branch secretary not long after I joined, then was soon elected constituency secretary. I became exasperated with the shambles I constantly had to deal with, resigned after a fairly short period, and did not renew my membership.

I recently took several personality tests, which indicate that my lack of concern for the feelings of others, rationality and emotional stability make me a natural leader, despite the evidence to the contrary.

I will tend to forgive a colleague’s mistakes, but sack them for repeated mistakes. I could not sack the other Labour Party members, so sacked myself.

When I was young, my only ambitions were to have so much money that I did not have to work, and to understand the Universe. I have now achieved the former and have a much better grasp of the latter.

What now? Have a laugh.

If I were a famous politician, I would be Abraham Lincoln. If I were a classic film, I would be Easy Rider. If I were a superhero, I would be the Green Lantern, whoever he is.

I score low on all the tested personality disorders, except narcissism, which is moderate.

I am destined for the Sixth Circle of Hell, along with all the other atheists. Allegedly.

(Disclaimer: all the tests were self-administered on free websites, and might be total nonsense.)

Google Map Search

The Google Maps search gives some unexpected results. I searched for “prostitute” near my address in Blackpool and came up with the Grand Theatre and the Northern Echo.

The search was made purely out of curiosity, you understand, but I will probably be turning up at the Grand Theatre, clean and happy, with £50 in my pocket.

Drugs Not Bombs

How unlucky is that? Your cannabis plants are in need of fertilizer, so you pop along to the local fertilizer shop. Because you are growing cannabis on an industrial scale, an alert citizen thinks, “fertilizer bomb” and contacts the authorities. You find a whole lot of very well armed people suddenly wanting to talk to you. Several years in prison for drugs offences eventually ensue.

I cannot help finding the plight of the poor criminals exceedingly funny.