It’s been a busy few weeks in the land of the living- so busy, bizarrely, that it feels like I’ve been in the land of the dead. At the moment the shower room I normally use is broken so I’m having to share with the girls who have claimed the main bathroom as their own, and subsequently they will not stop moaning about how I’m “flooding the bathroom, apparently shocked at the fact that one is likely to find water in the bathroom. The other morning I was so dead to the world that I incorrectly selected one of the twenty-six thousand bottles of various body cleansing and shampooing materials that are stored in our bathroom mistaking it for the other- the hazards of living with women I suppose.  I won’t go into graphic detail, but suffice to say that “mint fresh” burns more than you’d think when applied to injudiciousnareas of the body…

So sparing you all from my mundane shampoo based horrors I will skip to the slightly more exciting events I have been involved with in the last fortnight or so: first up- Halfway dinner.

3 piece is the only way to go

Without Halfway Dinner, the fact that we’ve all limped over the halfway mark to becoming fully fledged medical practitioners would probably go without fanfare. But with medicine being medicine, and medics being medics, it is celebrated in the only way we know how: a painfully inebriated three course meal in a conference centre. Rock and roll. I have to say, it was a top night. It was a nice chance to see everyone again after a long summer before we all split up into our respective groups for the hell that is the BSc. One can’t help but feel, however, that this amorous sentiment was helped along somewhat by the unlimited sparkling win reception. Absolute cashback. I can’t remember how friendly I was being on account of said bubbles of joy, but I didn’t make anyone cry which normally means the night has gone pretty well (or badly depending on your point of view- but for now let’s say well). The meal wasn’t too bad- standard generic conference food; that did mean I got to see the fantastic look of panic descend onto the waiting staff faces’ as my girlfriend muttered the

Not one...

words “dairy allergy” to them. This was, as is usual, followed by screams, tables being upturned in the desperate search for the maitre d’ (or whatever equivalent they had) and the inevitable conclusion of a rather limp looking fruit salad appearing, as this is obviously the only possible starter/desert/main course which is edible by someone with such a  grave disability. Other classic highlights of the evening included yours truly achieving literal double-cashback by winning two raffle prizes (admittedly with one of them being a “cut and blow dry” this wasn’t fantastically helpful given my hirsutely challenged head) and a ride in the lift being just too much excitement for one poor soul, who turned it into the Chunder Chamber 2000 deluxe. I suppose we just have to be grateful it didn’t get stuck. The lift that is, not the vomit. I assume they cleaned that up.

but two prizes! Double win!

So having reduced a perfectly nice evening to tales of vomit and baldness, let us turn our attention to the next event worthy of mention- Fresher’s fayre. Now being a fourth year I haven’t had a huge amount of time in the last few years to go around and collect the monumental amount of free crap that gets dished out- and this year was no exception. I was there promoting St John Ambulance LINKS by sitting in the cab of our ambulance playing the siren at inappropriate moments (including during a police evacuation of the college, whoops) and using the PA system to play the casualty/holby city theme or shout choice phrases at passing freshers such as “Whoop whoop dat’s da sound of da police!” Oh, to have the mind of a ten year old… Some of you who popped by the student blogging stand would have seen me there stealing the sweets and not being fantastically useful (in what was definitely not an attempt to put off those of you thinking of stealing my thunder…) A successful day for us there though, my indiscretions with charity equipment notwithstanding, despite my best efforts…

Speaking of St John, I recently went on an operational duty at the Royal Parks Half Marathon- medicine in the field, gotta love it. I’m

Obviously not a police car

not sure how different it was to the halfway dinner for some people actually, coming home covered in blood and vomit and having been dunked in ice cold water. Hrmmm. Anyway. For my part at the hospital tent- which soon resembled a warzone- involved cooling three people with ice cold blankets at once to stop them overheating (you literally see the steam rising off them as you cool them) and possibly exploding, and holding their flailing, delirious arms as one of the doctors attempted to put a line into their arm. Turns out I’m not that much stronger than a delirious athlete, something I learnt having got a firm dosing of a ice-filled sandwich bag to the knackers and face almost simultaneously. It was all worth it though- only in the sense that I could walk around performing my awesome Arnold Schwarzenegger “I think he needed to cool off” impression.

As you can tell, professionalism is at the heart of everything I do.

So now I’m off to “relax” and read some papers on mouse brain; this will involve sitting on an IKEA chair given to me by my neighbour, which I have reassembled without instructions or appropriate tools. If I never post again, you can safely assume it’s because I’m got an Allen key and an MDF armrest wedged somewhere they really shouldn’t be. May God have mercy on my soul.

So in an effort to update whilst saving time so I can revise (which, incidentally, was a complete failure) I have made a video update- something I haven’t done since last year’s blog. You will no doubt enjoy my pathetic attempts to form a coherent sentence, and the ridiculous light shadow that has been cast on my face thanks to my sub-standard curtains. I am also going to remind readers about my facebook page, which I am not contracually obliged to do.

Warning: The video contains images of my freshly laundered superman pants (as referred to here). Viewer discretion is advised.

Enjoy…

Aaaah, back at home again. I sit here writing this blog with a certain satiety, as I have just been fed a rather large roast dinner and have spent a good two to three hours wasting time watching 4-OD and BBC iPlayer instead of revising for my upcoming exams. I’m pretty sure, however, that acting like DCI Gene Hunt and judicious use of the word “shlaaaaggg” in the OSCEs can only work in my favour. I might even have to start smoking comedy sized discount Cuban cigars to complete the look.

Damn I’m cool.

So what’s been happening? Well, surprisingly quite a lot really. So much, in fact, that I’m not even going to write it all in one post- but what I will do is tell you what I’m going to write about (and then forget to write about it, thereby leaving you to fill in the gaps; if you read back a few entries I’m sure you can make your own Jaimie-esque witticisms).

So- what’s first?

What? Wait you say? You want me to talk about all the various media outlets I’m plugging first? I couldn’t possibly. But if you insist…

Why not join the facebook page? I admit that it serves absolutely no purpose whatsoever except to massage my ego by looking at how many people have clicked the “like” button, but I’m sure it’s the least you could do. Also keep a look out for me in this week’s Felix (which should be lying on a campus floor near you), which contains a slightly vitriolic look at these televised electoral debates. It’s not up online yet, but you can bet your bottom dollar I’ll tell you when it is.

So now that’s over and done with and I’ve taken off my trousers and switched on the Franki Valli, what has actually been happening? Well, as I mentioned earlier, exams are fast approaching. The interesting thing about these exams is that there is a significant practical element, where we all have to pretend to act like doctors and examine people’s chests and teach the how to use asthma pumps and suture fake bits of skin together. This has led to an alarming increase in the amount of time that I spend partially dressed outside of my bedroom/kitchen/roof terrace. A good example of this was a recent teaching session at a GP surgery with myself and the three other female medical students on my firm. In order to practise a peripheral vascular exam, one needs to remove one’s trousers (the patient’s, not the doctor’s). In what I can only describe as an attempt to prove chivalry isn’t dead (and bearing in mind womankind’s seemingly deep desire to bring sexual harassment charges against me) I took them off. Of course, this being me and the washing machine having been in use almost continuously for an entire week, I was running out of clean pants.

At this point, I need to explain that I own a comedy pair of superman underpants, complete with Y-front style and superman comic strips.

They were a present (honest guv).

I was going to take a photo for you all, but I am advised that sharing a picture of my pants with the entire interwebs is widely considered to be crossing some kind of line. I disagree, but if there is sufficient public demand, well, I am a man of the people.

Now, I imagine you’re all smart people, and can put these two pieces of information together and work out what happened. Take it from me- having three young student doctors feel for a pulse in your groin whilst you look like a cheapened, slightly overweight version of Clerk Kent 20 years too late isn’t quite the party one imagines it to be.

But still. Cashback comes in all forms, eh?

It would help if I was perhaps a little more “stacked” (as I believe the kidz on the streetz call it) when I inevitably get naked for one

It's all about using a paper stick to maintain roof-terrace order

exam or another, but instead I just end up standing there, looking confused. On occasion I even get physically assaulted; I’m quite hairy as a person- mainly in the legs and chest. This seems like an inordinate amount of information to share with you all- wherefore? Well, we also need to be competent in performing an ECG (a heart trace). This involves- quel surprise- taking off the shirt, and affixing unnecessarily sticky electrodes to one’s chest, arms and legs. All I can say is that Immac or Veet or whatever they (or any other leading brand) are called these days are definitely missing out on some incredible technology- I have the bald spots to prove it.

There's always time for a middle distance stare (with appropriate copyright pixellation)

So aside from nursing my self-esteem and battered body hair, what else? Well, I did manage to take advantage of the recent spell of good weather and we decided to host a BBQ. This, if I say so myself, was a fantastic idea until we had invited a good amount of guests and then realised we had no BBQ, charcoal or food. This was successfully remedied by a trip to our local Homebase store where we bought a modestly priced BBQ with the help of a young man called Benjamin. At first, I will be honest, I wasn’t entirely convinced that Benjamin was an actual employee as much as he was someone who enjoyed loitering around home and garden superstores advising people on the best choice of garden furniture. This was compounded by his wearing a woolly hat (which could have easily been a balaclava) and a name badge that was clearly written in his own hand. But, credit where credit is due, the man knew his fire starting equipment exceptionally thoroughly.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I got the bloody thing home and discovered it was almost un-buildable. Those good, kind people managed to forget to drill some critical holes in the lid, where I needed to secure a handle. This resulted in two superficial skin injuries, my turning the air blue and spending a good forty minutes bludgeoning some holes with a blunt screwdriver and some hammer. Resourcefulness, thy name is Jaimie.

I am happy to report, however, that our little soiree was a complete success. Our roof terrace offers some moderately nice views

And if all else fails, just crack out the fairy lights

over London; the food was well cooked and there were no reported cases of food poisoning; lashings of ginger beer were had, along with much fun. Admittedly several cans of beer and a few paper plates (and bizarrely the odd raw sausage) did end up on the neighbouring roof, but thanks to some fortuitous gusts of wind and a hungry crow the damage was confined to my rip-roaring hangover the next morning. I think I may have even been wearing my superman pants.

What’s the message here, kids? I have no idea, but it probably involves my learning to stop talking about my pants so much.

God speed.

So apparently it was pancake day the other day; it completely passed me by. However, the following day is apparently the first day of lent. I decided to give up giving up alcohol, and I won’t lie to you: I am awesome at it. For some reason it’s been a very difficult month for staying in- between people’s birthdays, visiting friends and [insert any reason here] I seem to be getting fantastically poor.

Many of you will be by now familiar with my occasional jollies off to other universities in search of a good night out- so much so that sometimes I feel a little guilty that this is an Imperial blog. Never mind, eh? This weekend, some of my good friends from an (inferior?) university in the South West (and with a description like that you’ll never guess which one) came to stay. I’ll share some of the videos and pictures from the evening with you (at a later date when they are sent to me) in a post all about the joys of going out in London, but for now suffice to say that my Saturday evening included shooting Bison and defending my female associates from crazed foreign one-armed members of the homeless community, amongst other things. Perhaps I can make a convincing tree of categories like my fellow blogging machine Corrie- who you may have noticed expressed some terse criticism of her last mention in my blog. In response, I’m going to do what I always do when I annoy someone- carry on.

So what has been happening lately? Well, as I have alluded to, it’s been a busy week. On Wednesday I was preparing for my compering debut (see below), and after having met with my fellow compere to go over a few last minute points and refine my witty repartee I decided to pop into Tesco to pick up a few items for dinner. Rather unfortunately my contact lenses had been playing silly buggers all day and as such I carried my glasses in my pocket. Despite an earlier near death experience which had resulted in a complete stranger pulling me out of Warwick Road (the reason why is still unbeknownst to me but I imagine it had something to do with almost getting hit by a car) I had managed to retain my glasses all day. Apparently, however, aubergines are too much for my my glasses to handle and they made a swift exit from my pocket to the floor somewhere in Tesco. I am very, very blind without them and co-incidentally nearing my last pair of contact lenses. Disaster.

One visit, one day, and one bus journey later, my wonderful glasses and I were reunited. Win. So here’s a thanks to the lady behind the counter at Customer Services, who simultaneously managed to return my glasses whilst arguing about a memory card and Trading Standards Law.

Speaking of buses, they have been an odd experience for me recently. The level that ordinary passengers will go to in order to ensure tourists comply with travel regulations never creases to astound me. Two tourists, after inadvertently blocking the stairwell and causing a passenger carrying a canary to miss his stop, stood on the upper deck. Everyone who has ever been on bus in London knows that this is the cardinal sin of municipal transport. These two jokers, however, seemed oblivious to this fact (despite repeated announcements by that frustrated sounding recording) to the point that a random woman started lecturing them on bus safety. Elsewhere, my message alert tone (which sounds like the “dun dun derrrrr” suspenseful type noise”) is so loud that young children hear it and then keep singing it for the rest of the journey, much to the gross distress of their parents. Whoops.

So my compering debut? This was at the hands of the third annual “Imperial Idol;” think X-Factor but less professional and more jeering. Myself and my good friend Fran took the stage for one night only as the Masters of Ceremonies. Surprisingly, you may think, the person who handed us this mantle is entirely sane (I think). I’ll see if I can get hold of some photos but essentially I was running entirely late; and so after a chaotic sprint down Gloucester Road my co-host was already well on the path to drunkenness. I saved the day by joining her. I think it went OK; I may or may not have completely destroyed her jokes and made comments about her not inconsiderable bust- but we made a good amount of money for Save the Children, so all’s well that ends well as they say.

Hospital wise; well, there’s not much to say really. I wish I could tell you that it’s like I had fallen asleep and woken up in an episode of ER, but sadly it’s a little more like I was in an episode of ER and fallen asleep. So I have been spending my time making sarcastic comments at any point possible- feedback sessions, tutorials, ward rounds, anything goes. I did do my first rectal examination on a live patient the other day. Not fun generally; less fun when they are faecally loaded and in some pain. Still, in for a penny, in for a pound. I’m approaching the end of my attachment at this central hospital, before I am once again cast out in to deepest darkest North Laaandan. Pray for me.

Finally, I, Jaimie, have patented a new hangover cure for like minded students. Follow this example to the letter:

1. Buy and subsequently eat a deep fill BLT (or Chicken Salad sandwich) from any good high street retailer
2. Take one orange flavoured effervescent vitamin tablet, dissolve in room temperature water; drink.
3. Requisite amount of analgesic medications of your choice.
4. Consume one packet of winegums.

Please send your cheques c/o Imperial College Communications. Now that’s what I call cashback.