Cutting-edge Australian medicine

Recently I read a story that piqued by interest, and indeed, some degree of envy: about an Italian tourist in that antipodal land whose main exports include lamb, beer, and T.V. soaps. He evidently injested some sort of poison, and in order to save his life, was kept alive by doctors on an intravenous drip of...wait for it...vodka!
Rather delightful, methinks. Of course, he couldn't enjoy it owing to his comatose state at the time. I just wonder, if I tried faking similar symptoms would the National Health Service here take a similar approach or would they just file me away in an MRSA-infected ward?

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/7037443.stm

"I am an equal opportunities employee"

Not really a statement that screams "hire me", is it? Yet some employers get away with writing the equivalent thing on job advertisements, which has got to be a candidate for 'Most Meaningless Statement of the Year'.

Does it mean they follow a quota system? That they hire lesser candidates just because of their background, to get their staff ratio back on track? Is that equal? Don't get me wrong; I'm all for equality and whatnot, it's just that the insinuations of such an overt statement are puzzling: Does it mean that every employer who doesn't proudly proclaim their merits in this department are, ipso facto, guilty of unequal hiring practices? Is their silence an admission of guilt? Conversely, does saying it act as surety against a lawsuit; is it effectively a license to practice the most repugnant nepotism?
Ultimately, I suppose, I would prefer to believe it is exactly what it says on the tin; and that they won't discriminate against me for being lazy.

Homecoming

I have recently left England for the greener pastures of home, though perhaps such a statement is unwarranted: a verdancy comparison of the two countries would likely reveal a degree of parity between the bucolic areas of the respective nations. But I digress.

Britain has taken a page out of McDonalds' book; learning from the practice of providing happy-meal toys themed to movie releases. Here's a copy of the press-release:

"To celebrate the launch of the film, "Bruce Almighty", Britain has decided to simulate a little diluvian event of its own, flooding major road and rail connections, as well as a fair number of domiciles."

The heavy rain, and consequent flooding, made travelling prohibitive, but nevertheless, I have accomplished my return homewards, and in time to witness a golfing victory, unequalled in the past 60 years: Pádraig Harrington's victory over Sergio Garcia in the playoffs of the Open Championship. Yeah, it doesn't mean anything to me, either. But one thing I did note was that
at the presentation of the winning trophy, the Irish contingent of fans regaled their countryman with a popular patriotic song dating back to the 1990 Irish participation in the Italian-hosted World Cup. As such, it is composed, when sung in refrain, entirely of a repetition, ad infinitum, of the spanish word 'Olé'. The irony most likely escaped many present, but it must have surprised, if not annoyed, the runner-up Garcia, to be serenaded, or indeed, goaded, in his own tongue, by the fans of his victorious opponent.

*hits cough button* "Yeah, right."

"The climax of the Cannes Film Festival looms, as the jury prepares to announce the winner of this year's Palme d'Or. The international jury, led by British director Stephen Frears, will choose from a shortlist of 22 films. A thriller from US film-makers Joel and Ethan Coen and a Romanian film about abortion are among the favourites.
In contrast to last year, which saw Ken Loach's The Wind That Shakes the Barley take the top prize, no British films featured in this year's competition. "

from the BBC's website,
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/6692481.stm

A British film? I don't think so.

Admittedly, it was not an exclusively Irish production; Amazon.com lists the studio as '20th Century Fox Home Entertainment', a Yanqui company, though, not British.

So it seems the distinction is a geographical one: when Irish films or actors win awards, they become British. What next? I imagine whatever medals Ireland wins in the 2008 Olympics will just be quietly tagged on to the British tally.
In the words of Samuel L. Jackson, during his interview with Kate Thornton,
"You see that’s your problem right there. You British keep claiming people that don’t belong to you. We had that problem here in America too, it was called slavery. "

/end rant.

[Incidentally, the title is a reference to a radio broadcast during the Suez Canal incident, when the BBC were charged with informing the public that Britain and France were entering the conflict as 'peacekeepers'. The newsreader hit the 'cough' button, to mute his transmission while he expressed his incredulity to his fellow presenters, but the button didn't function, and that comment went out live on air. What larks, eh? what larks.]

Kickback ©

If, like many people, you find yourself bored on the train, and disillusioned with the on-board magazine, advertising snacks and extraneous luxury goods, you can try an ingenius game I devised, Kickback ©:
Try to kick the backrest in front of you as many times as you can in a 10-minute interval, without being chastised by its occupant; then try to beat that score. If they hit you, the timer resets. If they change seat, try to follow. Double points are awarded for subsequent kicks.

An alternative to Kickback © is 'Antimacassar Bandit' ©:
Participants operate in teams, starting at opposite ends of the train, and work progressively through the carriages, trying to 'confiscate' as many antimacassars as possible, whilst avoiding detection by the train company's staff. Posing as ticket inspectors can be an effective way of achieving this; participants can patiently inform the passengers that they didn't specifically express their desire for an antimacassar, when purchasing the ticket. Standard antimacassar-tax is 45p. Those who refuse the surcharge, forfeit their headrest-cover; all perfectly reasonable. At the end of the game [read: train journey], both teams simultaneously present all the captured antimacassars to the independent adjudicator: the ticket inspector, and then run away. He / She determines the winning team by deciding who to chase after. Successful prosecutions against you, by the train companies, are taken as marks of distinction.

[insert title here]

Lately, I've been somewhat absent, as is evidenced by the temporal spacing between the below posts. I've been cooerced into saying something, but i'm currently absorbed in a wonderful book detailing, among other things, the behaviour of such well-known philanthropists as Heinrich Himmler and Joseph Stalin. Unless my audience of 1.5 is composed largely of those who wish to emulate these characters, I doubt any summary on my part would be appreciated.
Rather, I can post an extract from another of my recent academic endeavours - a week-long foray in Devon, stalking animals and recording their behaviour:

09:53:
Rabbit paused, looking around as if reflecting on the futility of its existence, and the lack of cerebral stimulation in its environment. It then cast a forlorn look at me, as if to suggest that the same insight could extend to myself. It then scratched itself and re-commenced chewing on grass.