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MAGAZINE EDITION Chris Johnstone Intro.Miracles and Wonder Truth or Dare Perched on her Electric Chair A Tale of Two Addicts Ethics and Repression in the Bloo Toon Enjoyable Journeys Review: Secrets From the Black Bag Review: Reflective Practice Writing and Reflective Development Sandyjim Saves the Day West Highland Way Diaries Owl of the Year? CONTRIBUTORS Chris JohnstoneJohn Gillies Hamish McLaren Ali Bodie Alex Thain Blair Smith Lesley Morrison Louise Hallam Lesley Morrison Peter Murchie Anne Ramsay About The Contributors RCGP Bookstore BACK ISSUES hoolet 51-Spring 2007hoolet 50-Winter 2006 hoolet 49-Summer 2006 hoolet 48-Spring 2006 hoolet 47-Winter 2005 hoolet 46-Autumn 2005 hool8 45-Summer 2005 hoolet 44-Spring 2005 hoolet 43-Winter 2004 hoolet 42-Autumn 2004 hoolet 41-Summer 2004 hoolet 40-Spring 2004 hoolet 39-Winter 2003 hoolet 38-Autumn 2003 hoolet 37-Summer 2003 hoolet 36-Spring 2003 hoolet 35-Winter 2002 hoolet 34-Autumn 2002 hoolet 33-Spring 2002 hoolet 32-Winter 2001 hoolet 31-Autumn 2001 hoolet 30-Summer 2001 hoolet 29-Spring 2001 hoolet 28-Winter 2000 hoolet 27-Autumn 2000 hoolet 26-Summer 2000 hoolet 25-Spring 2000 hoolet 24-Winter 1999 CONTACTS contact detailsWEB LINKS COURSES |
![]() SANDYJIM SAVES THE DAYMy wife and I have received a joyous blessing this year, our first-born Alexander James. As I'm sure parents more experienced than us will recall, the effect upon our mode de vie has been considerable. Friends tell us that when we contemplate our prior existence, the casual observer could mistake us for a pair of Kansas homesteaders viewing the freehold after Tornado Sandy has blown through. Hours not seen since student days are glimpsed upon the clock during the long night watches, bath time has become the definite highlight of my day and our previously elegant and orderly habitation is strewn with various anthropomorphically embossed products. We have even got a device that I am certain was invented by Stephen King, projecting as it does, a panoply of stars and teddies onto the bedroom ceiling to the accompaniment of tinny disembodied renditions of Disney classics. As I lie in the dark listening, I tremble fearfully, convinced that I can hear the footfalls of a psychotic doll on the stairs. I have also witnessed a social phenomenon of which I was previously blissfully unaware. Our closest and similarly blessed friends have become our keen competitors in a frantic competition. I recently observed my wife's face fall as a visiting mother detailed little Reece's baby singing classes. My assurances that Pavorotti was unlikely to be an alumni provided little succour. I had believed myself immune, but on another occasion, as I observed another friend repeatedly tap the nose of his 3 month old nose whilst intoning “nose, nose, nose, nose” I was strongly tempted to replicate the technique on my old friend, substituting forefinger and nose for forefoot and testicles respectively. It was in this spirit that I found myself immersed in Dr Spock's classic book seeking ways to precipitate the greatness of our mighty little one and foster that competitive edge. Despite initial reservations I was delighted to note that Vulcan babies are very similar to the human variety. Shortly I came upon advice to read brief moral tales to my newborn, which seemed logical. I couldn't find the section on teleporting, so instead I took the number 21 to Ottakar's, there to seek fables appropriate to my purpose. My theme was that it was grit, cunning and wile, liberally exercised, and not baby singing lessons, that are needed to get ahead in this life. The bibliofare on offer did not inspire. In the words of one famous thug it simply wasn't fit for purpose. There was Thomas the Tank engine celebrating a dead heat with Percy in the cleanest engine competition, when a well time sooty discharge could have seem him claim the big red rosette as his own. Then Bob the Builder, as cheery faced a buffoon as ever donned blue dungarees, was actually helping people fix-it with a glad heart, with ne'er a councillor or brown envelope in sight. I searched for the gritty heroes of my own childhood, Noddy scourge of the goblins, Pooh the gentlemen honey thief, I found them, but only after the PC brigade it appeared. There was only one answer. It was pen to paper time and find me an illustrator……… Once upon a time there was a GP called Dr Sandyjim. He was glum. It had been a very busy day in Toytown surgery. First there had been Noddy with a rusty bell. Dr Sandyjim had given him some cream and some stern words about safe adventuring. Next there had been an asylum seeking bear who wanting a certificate to say there was no marmalade in Peru. Sandyjim said no and the bear was very angry. He gave Sandyjim a hard stare. Then, just as Sandyjim had thought it was time to go home for tea the surgery door opened. Who should come in but Hugh, Pugh, Barney MacGrew, Cuthbert, Dibble and Grubb! They had strains, pains, broken veins, fractures, bruises and cuts - rioting in Trumpton again. “Oh bother”, thought Sandyjim, as be busily patched them up. Then, by the time he had finished Pooh was at reception demanding Tigger's Ritalin prescription. It wasn't quite ready. “Hmmmmpphh!” said Pooh. Now he was rushing to the Out of Hours Castle and he knew it would be jolly busy. Dr Sandyjim used to love his out of hours work. He soared all over Toytown with his driver Rupert. Meanwhile back at the castle Dr Balance O'Probabilities and Dr Ken Fitimdaein spoke on the jellyphone to all the worried little pixies, elves and gnomes and decided where Sandyjim and Rupert should go first. Then, one day a beautiful princess had arrived in Toytown riding a lovely white horse. Everyone loved the Princess. She travelled the land and everyone could see how very special she was. Everyone wanted to please the princess so everything she wanted she was given. One day she decided she wanted to do Dr Balance O'Probabilities and Dr Ken Fitimdaein jobs. They didn't think it was very princessy, but were delighted and skipped away hand in hand. Then a terrible thing happened. The beautiful princess turned into a dithery person in a polyester uniform and the lovely white horse became a snarling black evil machine. Oh no! The people of Toytown had all been tricked! It wasn't a princess at all - it was Twominds Terri the triage nurse and Potty Porus the protocol computer. Cackling ominously they dashed to a cave by the riverside to begin their dithery deeds! From that day on everyone was glum at the out of hour castle. Windy Miller, home visit at three in the morning, better after a good windypop, but it might have been a bowel infarction. An itchy rash on Thomas's coal hopper, it's probably Kawasaki's disease, get there straight away. Well Sandyjim had had enough. He had a plan. As they flew round Toytown that night he asked Rupert to stop at every jellyphone box they passed. Rupert wondered what Sandyjim was up to, but he said it was a surprise. It turned out that their shift wasn't that bad at all. In fact it had almost been like the old days. When they were finished Sandyjim suggested flying home by the riverside. Then, there by the cave was a wonderful site! Twominds Terri stood wailing and crying beside the smouldering remains of Potty Porus! When they got back to the out of hours castle Dr Balance O'Probabilities and Dr Ken Fitimdaein were dancing around, thankfully not in the altogether. But how had Sandyjim done it, they wanted to know. Sandyjim laughed as he told them. Each time they had stopped at a jellyphone box he had phoned Twominds Terri pretending to be a sick citizen of Toytown. He had been Bigears with an itchy toe and smelly breath, Orinoco feeling very tired, some little gnomes and elves that were “so thirsty they were choking” or “had a funny rash”. He had finished off with a few residents of old dwarves homes who “just weren't right.” When Terri had typed this into Potty Porus he had at first started to churn out a lot of gibberish. She hadn't noticed that. But she did notice when he exploded! Hurray! Sandyjim had saved the day. They all celebrated with lashings of Costco coffee. Authors note:
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