Nelson's Column, Bolg, Blog, whatever...

Red wine, fags and egg yolks – Jerry’s balanced diet

I never thought I’d be saying this, but I’m beginning to miss my NHS job. It hits me the hardest in August and February, for obvious reasons. I fondly recall the smell of fear in the air as a new batch of juniors made their tentative way on to the wards – the thrill of the chase as I eyed up my latest prey, and prepared to undermine their pitifully small reserves of self-confidence, reducing them to tearful (the girlies) or sullenly resentful (the chaps) husks by the end of the first day.

But that avenue of pleasure has been closed off to me, thanks to the bloody GMC, so I suppose it’s back to the journalism for another month or two. Here’s my pick of the medical news…

An even keel

Red wine – it’s the gift that keeps on giving. I’ve lost count of the number of times that ‘the experts’ in the health mafia have had to admit that red wine is good for you, and here we go again. Turns out that there’s a chemical in the old vin rouge that helps to improve our balance and mobility, which could be a boon for older patients. The bad news (if you think it is bad news – I’m far from convinced) is that you’d have to drink 700 glasses to notice any effect, and the researchers point out that the alcohol involved might negate any positive effect on equilibrium. Well, maybe, but it’s worth trying. If they’re thinking of launching a controlled trial, I’ll happily enrol in the treatment arm.

Oh yes – I’m perfectly willing to cut down for a few weeks, if it serves the greater good.

Lard-arse loonies

I’ve seen right-thinking people like me being given a hard time on this and other forums for suggesting that fatties just need to pull themselves together. Well, now it’s offical, the obese are nutters. Mind you, can’t help thinking that Dr Pierre Dukan risks biting off the hand that feeds him – after all, the fatties that made him rich by buying into his piss-poor diet plan may well decide to try some other approach if he starts telling them they’re mental.

Like eating less, perhaps.

‘Wail’ watching

The Daily Wail tells us that egg yolks are as nearly as bad for us as smoking, based on a recent Canadian study. Turns out that they’ve just skimmed the report and turned it into a headline that completely misrepresents the research concerned, but hey, that’s tabloid journalism for you (I could teach them a thing or two, and I’ve only been at it for a few months).

It occurs to me that I could take those first three items of news as the inspiration for yet another direction in my increasingly diverse career – a diet plan that people would actually enjoy. I’d start with a six-egg red wine omelette.

Darwinism in action again

Well, what do you know? Measles is on the increase again. Now, I’d be the last person to wish ill on any child, particularly when it’s a potentially fatal disease like measles. But let’s remember that these are mostly the children of middle-class faux-hippy tree huggers who are too pig ignorant to understand the simple message the vaccinating their kids is safer than not vaccinating, and who ignore any healthcare advice that doesn’t involve aromatic oils or Hopi ear candles. Dickheads. The sooner they stop contributing to the shallow end of the gene pool, the better.

Lay off smokers, US told

The US government has been told it can’t put big pictures on cigarette packs to discourage smoking. Quite right too! This anti-smoking business has gone too far already. If I want to smoke in public, I will, and if the public don’t like it, they know what to do.

I still haven’t come to terms with the ban on fags in theatre. I’m not irresponsible – I instituted a self-imposed ban on smoking during surgery after the incident with the fag ash and the breast implant – but I used to enjoy a quick drag in the anaesthetic room while the lad sewed up. Explosion risk my arse! Quite apart from the instant chemical gratification, it irritated the hell out of the bearded dweeby one, not to mention those up their own backsides theatre sisters.

So, well done to the yankee judges for putting the nannying bloody FDA in its place.

And now, if I’m not to be allowed any sport with the new DIYs, or FY sodding 1s, or whatever you call houseplants these days, I’m off to shoot a few dumb animals and sink a bottle or three with some like-minded chums.

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