Daft Old Duffer returns. Guest opinion articles do not necessarily reflect the views of the publication. Ed
I had a bit of a check-over in the cardiac unit at my local hospital recently. They wanted to see if I was really still alive, or only pretending.
When it was all over the head honcho surprised me by unbending from his Lord Over All demeanour to ask if I would do him a favour.
Bit like God smiling down on me and asking me to scratch his back. So of course I said yes, only too glad, what is it.
Students after my own heart
He explained that he had groups of medical students passing through the department from time to time, and he liked to supply them with some interesting heart patients.
He said,
“I get them to listen to their chests and attempt to diagnose what is wrong,’he explained. ‘And your heart is giving off some particularly interesting noises. It means a day of sitting around being stethoscoped, tea and biscuits supplied,”
So there you have it; A bunch of bright young things finding me interesting enough to spend a whole day in my company.
Makes you sorta proud, in a way
Sidney telephones Rabbi Levy …
Last night I watched a programme in which a group of elderly Jewish folk told a series of very funny jokes. Some of them so funny I resolved to remember them for future use.
And as soon as the programme finished I completely forgot the lot.
Now, because of my training and the career I’ve followed, I can translate degrees farenheit into degrees centigrade and vice versa in my head, no calculator required.
And because of my personal interest I can at the drop of a hat relate a fairly comprehensive history of Britain from pre-Roman times up to the present day, no notes needed.
This is not a boast about my brilliant intelligence, it is simply to point out that my memory – and yours – acts in ways that pay no heed to the commands of our concious brains.
It’s because ……
Everybody reading this, if they have reached a certain age, can easily recall trivial events of their childhood, yet entirely fail to remember where they put their glasses. Or how on earth one of their slippers got into the washing machine.
I have no idea why this happens. But if we truly have evolved in response to the need to survive, then there has to be a reason. Perhaps I read something about it at some time. But if I did, I’ve forgotten what it was.
Image: My Name Is Harsha under CC BY 2.0
