night before the symposium

There is just too much work for me to go to a week-long conference but a one-day meeting is attractive. It is an opportunity to see some of the latest ideas and clinical practice in a concentrated form. I booked a cheap room nearby to avoid a long drive in early morning peak-hour traffic at the start of the day.After paying online I noticed a link to reviews of the apartments I had chosen. Many were dissatisfied and angry, imploring the reader to avoid this service. It seemed I had made a mistake although the apartment cost less than a hundred dollars, was close to the city(and to the conference site at an elite hotel), and had free parking. Too late to change my booking, I drove there on the Thursday night after my afternoon clinic.

Reception was friendly and the rooms were more than I needed, among streets of beautiful old terraces.

There seems to be a meanness of spirit in internet commentary.People presumably feel uninhibited due to their relative anonymity. It is a disappointing discovery about human nature. Apparently there is a common behaviour known as trolling. Linguistically this seems to be an amalgamation of trawling, as in fishing for a bite or response, and the word troll - adopting the persona of an evil creature. It is a little like a child pretending to be bad as part of developmental play, an imaginary game where the child may feel the exhilaration of being wickedly dangerous without consequences. To some extent this behaviour is treated much like that of a child by experienced internet users - their intent is identified and they are asked to stop: "You are trolling. Please leave this thread." They wouldn't do it in a real-life discussion but I suppose it is unavoidable in this new medium. I expect that eventually these people mature but meanwhile they upset those who are trying to use the web for genuine communication. They are annoying speed humps on the information superhighway. I'm sure that has been said before.

Back to the night before the conference. I am now in the big city alone. I can do anything I want.        It is a bit lonely.         However I take my current book(by Arthur C. Clarke) and walk into the city to see what I can find. Exclusive shops line the streets, closed but displaying their seductive products. There is a restless warm breeze and a scattering of raindrops as dusk turns to dark. Small groups of people stride down the footpaths talking loudly, laughing and bumping into each other carelessly, some late from work, some early in their night on the town. Ahead I hear an insistent electronic beat which I find is coming from a well dressed crowd drinking champagne in the forecourt of a tall building where a new fashion shop is celebrating its opening.I wish them well though I am not sure if it is money well spent. Further into the building foyer I recall there is a good Japanese restaurant, my cuisine of choice. I thread my way through the crowd and find the discreet establishment is still there and open for business. I enter and ask for a table for one.

I am hidden from the rest of the diners.
The meal is splendidly sparse.
I drink hot sake and finish with camomile tea.



The night is still young and I am free so I pay my bill and leave. The fashion crowd is gone. A couple of  tattooed roadie types, in black jeans and black T-shirts, are putting away the sound equipment. I wander down the street, a little inebriated from the sake, seeing the world from a different perspective.

Soon I find a microbrewery pub and decide to try one or two. I order a pint and find a seat, pulling out  my book and occasionally looking up at one of the TV screens which are showing a world cup rugby match between England and Scotland. The book is entertaining and the rugby is dour as I sip my beer. Gradually the beer goes down and I find it harder to concentrate on the book. The rugby is easier to follow.

I finish my glass and leave with the game still in the balance; float onto the street again, another nameless ant weaving among the towering  architecture. For once I don't have to drive home, don't need to worry about my blood alcohol level. A familiar bar appears and I know what I want.

The beer is good although starting to suffer from the law of diminishing returns. The more you drink the less you can taste. I sit alone again, unable to read my book, and eventually the inane music videos penetrate my increasingly incoherent awareness. I finish my beer and gladly leave the thumping demanding noise behind, giddy in the cool night air, vaguely heading back to my rooms on foot, snatches of traffic and city lights registering intermittently on my brain.
There is a park to cross, fairly well lit although I know from my medical student days nearby that it can be unsafe at night. The alcohol allays my concerns as I traverse the otherwise empty gardens. Flowers line the paths, vivid even in the dark.

I would have made an attractive target as I reeled through the historic park so close to the city centre.

Then I am through and find myself standing before my old medical school obstetric hospital, now some sort of apartment building, no longer the busy, somewhat frightening birthplace of my professional life.I am suddenly sad at this loss. I am old and the world has moved on, but so much that I do every day brings a small memory of this place, so alive in my mind. I realize that many of those awesome consultants who taught me my lifelong lessons are retired or have died. I am a lonely maudlin drunk.






After walking back and forth along the footpath I fail to find anything familiar and resume my journey past quiet street-lit houses to my quarters.







I stumble into my room, remove a random selection of my clothing and fall asleep on top of my bed. I wake later and complete my undressing, hazily set the alarm and climb beneath the covers, dreaming of my youth.