Tales From The Lab, Part I

Definition of a Lab Tech: A Stool sitting on a Stool analysing a Stool

Many years ago, before I decided to study at university, I worked as a trainee technician in a diagnostic biochemistry lab. This was during the 1970s when you could gain a responsible position without a degree. My entry qualifications at the time were a modest 7 CSEs and 5 O'levels (GCEs)—the sort of qualifications that you get at 16. After gaining the position, I attended day-release college to obtain the relevant technical qualifications (ONC and HNC). It was a challenging series of courses spread over 5 years. College attendance was from 9am to 9pm, and once the exams were passed, you were eligible to enrol as a registered basic grade technician. Even as an 'apprentice', I received a decent salary plus additional money for out-of-hours on-call work. As can be imagined, I was young and stupid and spent much of my money on motorbikes, women, and beer- at least I didn't waste it. Regardless of the obstacles put forth by my stupidity, I eventually managed to satisfy the requirements and became fully qualified. Enough introduction.

On this particular day, I was busily analysing faecal samples from patients with gut disease. The analysis was primarily concerned with measuring fat content. I'm sure there are more sophisticated tests available today that don't involve delving unto the murky depths of someone's shit, but this was the mid-70s. Now, it could be thought by many that this job was rather unpleasant. And indeed, the smell was something to behold. That said, this was an analytical duty that I enjoyed performing for several reasons. First, most of my responsibilities in the lab involved working with autoanalysers. Blood samples from patients were transferred to the analyser's carousel, and I ensured that the reagent bottles contained sufficient chemicals. Once satisfied that all was good, a button was pressed. Later, the results were read off a graph, and that was that. I found the whole process tedious and unfulfilling. The testing of faeces was wholly different as the processes involved were not amenable to automatic analysis. Part of the process involved placing the faecal matter in retorts with a caustic chemical and subjecting the sample to reflux. The resulting liquor was then manually titrated using a burette. This was real chemistry involving several manual steps culminating in a calculation. 

Before all the interesting stuff could be performed, the faeces needed to be rendered into a semi-liquid sludge. This was achieved by adding a measured amount of water to the faeces, which was transferred to a sizeable industrial-style blender. A lid was placed on top, and a switch flicked. The procedure was contained within the Sluice Room, where all the 'wet work' was done. Unfortunately, on this ill-favoured day, the rubber seal on the lid failed. This seal usually provided a perfect occlusion containing all the smelly grossness. I'm sure my readers can guess the sequel of events following the loss of perfect closure-  O, woe is me... Within a microsecond, I was sprayed, from head to foot, with faeces, both liquid and semi-solid. Luckily/unluckily, I was close to the instrument of my misery, and with a hand beset with foul ordure, I reached and turned the source of my torment off. My cries of gross misfortune brought forth my colleagues. None would come too close, and I could hear barely suppressed giggles in the background.

The sluice room contained a shower, and I promptly shuffled in and turned it on to full power. Once most of the faeces had been removed, I stripped and had a long, hot shower. Spare clothes were found that were vaguely fitting. My colleagues, as one, came and helped in the subsequent cleanup. Overalls and rubberised boots were obtained from the 'Emergency Cupboard'. The sluice room was self-contained with a thick, durable vinyl floor that crept up the wall for about 30cm. The cleaning was completed within the hour. After a backup blender was found, I returned to work.

As an aside, back in the 1970s, 'Health and Safety' was not a concept yet inculcated into laboratory culture. Had the accident happened today, I would have had to complete a lengthy Incident Report, and a sample of the offending faeces would have been sent for testing for the presence of a myriad of diseases. After a suitable delay, I would have been tested for conditions such as Hep B and C.   

After my mishap, the boss decided that a change in protocol was required. The blender was superseded by a stomacher system. Although it took longer to mulch faeces this way, it was deemed safer.

Moral of the story: Shit happens.          

A Christmas Tale: An Alternative Nativity Story

Let Us Adore Him

In those days, Caesar (Ipod Mugumbo) declared that a world census (Tipton and Dudley North) should be taken. And lo everyone should report to their ancestral home for registration. 

So Papa Flaxen the Elder went up to the 'city' of Stewpony. He went there with the incipient, Mrs. Saxon, who was greatly gravid with child. She had been impregnated by the itinerant Lugless Dugless after an ill-fated liaison in a Mazda 3. No guest rooms were available, so the child was born on the midden pit and wrapped in a swaddling shopping bag. Three filthy, thieving gypo bastards arrived from the East boroughs of Birmingham following a drone which hovered over the midden pit. When they arrived in Tipton they inquired where lieth the new king of the Tiptonites. The incumbent king, Herod the Addled, was sorely miffed and said unto the gypos. "Go find this child and report back so I can remove his bonce with my double-headed Danish war axe, 'Twat Cruncher', er I mean so I can adore him with sweetmeats and sundries akimbo including an iPhone 16 Promax". 

The three wise gypos continued their quest and found the baby Flaxen atop the Stewpony midden pit. And there they opened their treasures and gave the child a fake gold ring, a gallon of brut aftershave and a ferret called, Shagger. After the gypos left, it was noted that various items had gone a missing, including Mrs Saxon's iPhone (insert the latest iteration).

Suddenly a drunk appeared and blurted: "Yow must bugger orf to Coventry else the king will separate young Flaxen's noddle from his already well-developed shoulders". And so they fled to the east, but not before stopping off at 'Mr Khan's Kebab Shoppe and Home for Stray Tasty Animals.' There, they enjoyed a sumptuous repast of indeterminate meat.  

When the king learned he had been duped, he was mightily pissed and sent forth a gang of 'nere do wells' on a quest to put to the sword all young Tiptonites under two.

As fulfilled by the prophet, 'Eric the Inebriate', saying':

A raucous shout was heard in Merry Hill,

Wailing, bawling and grand tribulation,

Sharan bawling for her 12 kids,

No more child benefits.

And lo it came to pass wind which blew Herod down a disused mine shaft. As Herod was no more, our intrepid trio decided to return to Tipton, unabated and unsullied- excepting the new-to-be, Mrs Saxon. Virgin, my arse! More like verging on the ridiculous. Anyway, as Tipton was a shit place, they decided on a council house in Smethwick- a slightly less shit place.

Here Endeth The Tale  

Commodus Part I

 Marcus Aurelius Antoninus- 'The Philosopher King'

Commodus- Preamble

This is the first post in a series concerning the Roman Emperor Lucius Aurelius Commodus Antoninus (Commodus). I've had to split this topic into several posts, as the sweep of the subject is too grand to fit a single narrative. 

It bodes ill when your name calls forth the image of a toilet. But it is not Commodius' fault. The word 'Commode' did not appear in French until 1680. In hindsight, the young Commodus had it all. His father was the illustrious Marcus Aurelius, no less. As it turned out, Aurelius, 'The Philosopher King', would be the last of the 'Five Good Emperors'. His death in 180 AD marked the end of Rome's Golden Age. The stability and prosperity established from the time of Augustus was about to wither, dry up and flop to the side.      

The Emperor Commodus was brought forth to the popular imagination due to the film Gladiator (2000), directed by Ridley Scott. A very enjoyable film, by the way. The writing and acting were outstanding, even though historical accuracy was a little off. But that is okay; liberties were taken for viewer enjoyment and breathtaking threatre. Russell Crowe played his part well- this was Crowe at the height of his fame and acting abilities. As I recall, the plot turned on the fact that Marcus Aurelius had recognised his son's inadequacy to rule and, on his deathbed, had entrusted the empire to his general, Maximus (Crowe). In the film, Maximus would act as an interim caretaker and champion the restoration of the glorious Republic. However, Commodus forstalled his father's dream and seized the throne through his evil machinations, and poor Maximus was enslaved and doomed to fight as a gladiator. The man, Maximus, did not exist as a historical figure. In the film, this fictional character acts as a dramatic anchor on which the action turns and writhes. At this stage in Roman history, the 'Glorious Republic' was beyond restoration and twas never to be again, from Augustus until the end.

This post is rapidly turning into a commentary on Gladiator. This is not my original intention. In conclusion, I will say that the opening battle scene between the Romans and Germanic tribes was awesome and epic. Moving on. By the way, Gladioli II is not very good.

There is little doubt that Marcus Aurelius was a wise, competent and highly intelligent ruler. He would likely have divined that his son and heir was unfit to rule. That being the case, why did he put forth his son for the purple? Could it be that Commodius' character defects were not evident when young and only became apparent later under the severe strains and pressures of autocratic rule? However, as argued further on, Aurelius was in a bind when selecting an heir. Regardless, at the time of Aurelius' death (58), by plague, Commodus was eighteen and, indeed, too young to ascend to the throne as sole ruler. To have ultimate power and wealth assembled on such young shoulders was a recipe for a 'Shit Show' unless those shoulders were guided by prudent and sagacious advisers- more on this in the next thrilling instalment. The wise Aurelius had already made Commodus co-ruler when he was just sixteen. This ploy served two purposes: at the time, Aurelius and Commodus were on the western frontier fighting the pugnacious and very naughty Macromani.  In this way, Commodus received firsthand war experience and tuition from perhaps the smartest emperor Rome had ever had. Secondly, this would smooth the transmission of power at Aurelius' death. The death of the reigning emperor and the accession of the new was always a perilous time for Rome. A transition, primarily based on heredity, was generally the 'Golden Ticket' but rarely achieved. However, it is worth remembering that there was always a gaggle of ambitious and rich senators /generals crouching in the shadows, ready to usurp the position if circumstances allowed. The lure of the ultimate accolade spurred men to risk all, though most would fail. This situation would inevitably lead to much bloodshed and, on occasion, civil unrest and outright civil war. 

Perhaps Aurelius hoped that his wise counsel and 'on-the-job training' would mould his young son into a capable ruler. No doubt, he would have made sure that there were competent advisors to guide the fledging emperor in his early years of rule. His plans were derailed by his early demise. Even the wise Aurelius couldn't have foreseen this untimely problem- 'Of Mice and Men'. Of course, he could have bypassed his son entirely and appointed an emperor based on merit. This would be a recipe for war. Influential individuals would coalesce and influence a disgruntled Commodus, urging him to take the throne by force. The populace would likely support young Commodus. The mob had an uncanny knack for adhering to the children of popular Romans (for example, consider Germanicus and Caligula). Aurelius was well-loved by the common folk and ruled with a sagacious guiding hand. And there was a further problem.

Let us imagine a situation where Aurelius appointed a successor based on his knowledge, political acumen and wisdom, and the juvenile Commodus accepted this political move without rancour. Commodus would have plenty of assets to enjoy a comfortable private life. Why bother to become ruler of Rome's vast territories. It would undoubtedly involve gruelling admin work and vexatious conundrums to ponder. Better to have a quiet life on a country estate far away from the turbulent political machinations of Rome. Better to contemplate a peaceful life of idle/idyll wealth far removed from the irksome intrigues of senators and the incessant rumbling of common folk only interested in the free dole and blood-soaked arena. However, there is a manifest problem with this scenario. Political reality must intervene. There is a saying: 'A plurality of Caesars is no good thing'. Even a sagacious successor possessing a mild and compassionate temperament must be aware that the male offspring of the previous incumbent is a potential focus for future intrigue and plot. However, it cannot be denied that emperors gifted with abundant clemency and compassion will unlikely remain enthroned for long. Ruling the Roman empire was not for the meek and mild. The meek may inherit the world in a work of fiction, but not in this life.

Best to have a potential usurper removed from the political chessboard. Quietly, if possible. Accidents can be contrived and executed with skilled expediency. Do we remember Caesar's son by Cleopatra, Ceasarion (Little Caesar)? No, of course not. Caesarian was executed under the orders of the then Octavian in 30 BC; Caesarian was seventeen. Perhaps this was unnecessary, as Caesarian could never have wielded political power in Rome. Nonetheless, Octavian reasoned that a man bearing Caesar's name was too powerful a symbol to be left alive. Whatever Aurelius thought about Commodius' ability to rule Rome's vast empire, he no doubt wanted him to survive following his death. The filial bond between a father and son is beyond rational measure.

Enough rambling for now. The next post in this series will discuss the events following Commodius' succession and its immediate ramifications.         

     

On Nature

Beautiful Bird, You Have Escaped the Eternal Struggle. No More Pain. Rest Easy, My Little Friend  

Several months ago, I wrote about an enterprising pair of blackbirds who had wisely decided to build a nest upon my outside water heater unit. I documented the progress of the hatchlings. At the time, it was early spring, and hence, a precarious time of year to raise a brood. Nonetheless, atop a water heater was the optimum choice for survival. After raising a successful brood, the parental birds left the nest to do stuff that blackbirds do. The sequel: I noticed that our god-favoured birds (perhaps Demon favoured; the distinction blurs/merges) had returned a few weeks ago to take a chance at a second brood. As a professional biologist, I took an interest in the proceedings and noted five eggs within the nest. Of the five, only three made it to the hatchling stage. Two down and three to go. I took an emotional interest in the brood and kept a weathered eye on 'my chicks'. A day later, I noticed that there were only two offspring within the confines of the nest. I searched the immediate environs, but no sign of the errant chick could be found. I could only surmise that the missing chick had spread its wings and had become one with Nature. Or perhaps a pesky ferret had taken the chance to feed its hungry brood. Shagger, are you there? The remaining chicks were becoming vocal and waxing fat. Due to personal reasons, I was subject to a hiatus (not the extended abdominal wall variety), which caused a break in the continuity of my ornithological activity. Imagine my chagrin and displeasure when I returned to the nest to discover that a single chick, clearly bereft of corporeal existence, remained. Its life essence had departed, and the ever-waiting and inevitable agent of decay, entropy, was taking its toll/toil (see pic.). I carefully removed the nest and interred the bird with its bier unto eternal rest within the wildflowers flourishing within the confines of Flaxen Saxon Estate.  

Of the five eggs spawned, only two fledglings left the nest. Of course, there is no certainty that these birds survived. It is conceivable that one or both fell from the cosy confines and succumbed to a lurking predator. At best, 40% of the eggs survived as successful independent juveniles capable of flight. And this is only the beginning.

My observations and the stark sequence of events had got me pondering. Due to my biological training, I am well versed in natural selection's role in the great 'Dance of Life', or more prosaically, Evolution. In the wild, all organisms, great and small, plant or animal, are subject to natural selection's stark, cold hand. In the early stage of life, selection is at its most apparent, and generally, this is where the most potent selection pressure is manifest. In addition, the process is necessarily and inherently cruel for sentient organisms gifted with a sophisticated neural network. 

I state that 'Nature' is cruel. This could be construed as anthropomorphism, the application of human attributes to an inanimate concept. This is a common human trait often applied to the all-encompassing idea of Nature. In objective science, the urge should be avoided. That said, in matters relating to all other endeavours in life, it can add imagery, express emotions, allow pause for thought or confer poetic nuance. Digression over.

Evolution can only occur if the majority of organisms of a species die before reproduction. This is a given in any wild biological setting. As a mechanism of species change, evolution by natural selection, is, by its very character, ruthless, fundamentally brutish and mayhap, pointless. 

For those of a religious bent who invoke the mysterious, hidden creator of ALL, this poses a problem. As a mechanism, evolution through natural selection is rather profligate in execution. This method is not energy efficient. Why not make all living things ex nihilo and leave as is. Why is change part of the process anyway? But who am I, a mere man, a creature born in sin, questioning the ineffable God?  And what's the deal with parasites anyway? 

I wonder why, in his later years, Charles Darwin stopped going to church.  

       

More God Than Man, Possibly.......

underpinned   

Tis November, Tis Christmas!

Tis a beautiful, sunny, late spring day in Wairarapa, New Zealand. After a turbulent spring of unpredictable weather, I suspect we are entering a period of typical summer Wairarapa fare with hot, dry climatic conditions. 

The last day of November also marks our town's Christmas parade (arse). The main street is closed to the usual cacophony of traffic, and the town's folk are subject to a series of parade floats of varied construction and quality. In addition, there is a marching band followed by the town's dedicated and skilled Scottish piper fraternity. Tis a yearly fixture in our town. I rarely make the effort to attend; however, this year, my beloved granddaughter, Freja, is making a guest appearance on her father's company's float.  Thus myself and Mrs S dutifully arrayed ourselves with assorted proles on the sidelines. Our wait was short, and the float of interest lumbered slowly unto view. Our flaxen-haired granddaughter made her appearance stage left, and all became bathed in her beatific pulchritude. Her radiant glow bestowed charmed grace upon those in attendance, even the fat smelly folk. Once she had departed, this vista, this arena, became dull and commonplace, thus heralding our departure. It was then I noticed that I had forgotten to take my medication. O, woe is me.....  

My psychiatrist, the renowned and esteemed Prof. Mugumbo, has repeatably requested that I refrain from idealising about burning stuff. Also, my fixation on all things ferret is a grave hindrance to my future mental well-being. The Prof. may have a point. 

Numismatics

    Claudian Aureus in Great Condition

As my regulars are well aware, I have an active interest in the history of ancient cultures, particularly ancient Greece and Rome. This is of no surprise, as we directly and indirectly owe much to Greece and Rome. These ancient cultures have bequeathed much in terms of culture, art, architecture, technology, law, language, literature, and, let's not forget, war—have I left anything out? (What did the Romans do for us?)

We can learn much from the ancients. Although times change, the constant is human nature. One method we can use to garner knowledge from the past is through coinage. As a practical concept, coins came into being about 800 BC in Lydia, a region of Asia Minor. Initially, the coins were simply adorned with a plain, modest image. The concept spread quickly throughout the Mediterranean region, and the first Greek coins were minted around the 7th century BC. The implementation of coinage offered many advantages over the simple barter it replaced. Coinage containing precious metals of known weight offered standardisation and credibility backed by government power and prestige. This innovation facilitated both internal and international commerce muchly.

By hook and by crook, I  seem to have inherited various pieces of old coinage. Most are British and not particularly old. Indeed, the oldest British currency I sport in my limited collection is the strange and out-of-place 'Two Pence Cartwheel ' minted in 1797'. This rather large coin proved unpopular with merchants of the day, perhaps because of its size. The coin was minted in Birmingham, a large and rather unloved city adjacent to the beloved borough of Tipton. Anyway, at the time of mint, the Crown stipulated the coin should contain two pence of copper as valued at that time, hence its large size. It has remained an anomaly in British coinage history never to be repeated. I also own several silver Victorian crowns of excellent condition. However, the pride of my collection is a coin minted 2,000 years ago.

I have the honour of being the proud recipient of a gold aureus commemorating Claudius' invasion and conquest of Britain in 43 AD. Tis a coin replete with propaganda, emphasising Claudius' great achievement. Conquering a country is something to gloat about. Claudius is a fascinating character/caricature from history. He was thrust unto greatness by chance and circumstance. After the assassination of the alluring and frankly odd Caligula in 41 AD, poor Claudius was found dallying behind palace drapes by the Praetorian guard. Once discovered, Claudius lay prostrate in fear. But fate favoured the fool, and he was granted the greatest gift of the ancient world. And thus, he was made Emporer of Rome and all its possessions (Tipton was not a Roman province at the time). Claudius was an unlikely candidate for the purple. According to history, he was afflicted by several unpleasant maladies which distracted from the majesty of the ultimate accolade. His ticks, stutter and ungainly gait, must have made him an unruly spectacle in public. In private, he would have had to suffer the indignities of his close family's scrutiny.  

Throughout life  Claudius had been sequestered in the cloisters due to his health problems. Unlike his kin he had not been allowed to undertake military glory. To advance in Roman society and politics, a military career was mandatory.  Bereft of military experience Claudius faced a problem of credibility. He needed a military victory to cement his position as emporer. But where to go? There was the perennial problem of the Germans. However, the Germans were always a proud, stubborn race ready for violence. Best leave them behind their dark, dank, weary forests. After all, the Rhine was too alluring as a defensive line/lime. Britainia seemed an easier mark. They were no match for Caeser's legions a hundred years before. Therefore, in 43 AD, the Roman invasion of Britain began in earnest and troops under Aulus Plautius landed in Kent. Initially, the invasion went smoothly and to plan, and by 46 AD, the Romans felt comfortable enough to issue a gold coin lauding their victory over the Britains. One side of the coin shows a triumphal arch with the inscription. 'DE BRITANN'. Also, we have a fella riding a horse flanked by two sets of armour and arms representing spoils of war. On the other side, we have a rather flattering portrait of Claudius in repose with the legend, TI CLAVD CAESAR AVG P M TR P VI IMP X. 

Through the modern lens, Claudius has come to be considered a mild, studious, and avuncular emporer. This is perhaps due to Robert Graves's writings and best-seller, 'I CLAVDIVS'. In truth, he was not as benevolent as portrayed and had a bloodthirsty streak, just like his predecessor, the much-reviled Caligula. Claudius also had a habit of picking the wrong women as consorts. Messalina and Agrippina proved to be disastrous. Historians are of the opinion that Agrippina was active in sending old Claudius off to reside with his ancestors. Once Claudius was out of the way. Agripinna's son, Nero, became emperor. And as we are aware, Nero is not considered one of Rome's most beloved rulers.     

My coin has suffered a great deal of wear, probably as a consequence of hundreds of years of circulation. In numismatic circles, the condition of the coin is paramount. For instance, if the coin in question is graded as 'extra fine (XF)' condition at auction, it can expect to fetch in the region of US $50,000. My coin offers no interest to collectors and, therefore, is worth its gold content which is subject to the fluctuating gold price. I estimate that in bullion terms, it is worth no more than US $120. That said, there is something magical to own a coin representing a historical event stretching back two millenium.         

God Bless Tipton!

I need a break from writing these serious and long blog posts. I need something frivolous and simple to cool my seething brain.....

Breaking news from the principality of the United States of Tipton and Associated Environs, including West Smethwick and Netherton North (USTAEWSNN)! The latest election results confirm that the new president of the USTAEWSNN is, for it is he, Colonel Ronald MacDonald Blimp (National Bolshalist Party). His opponent in this polarising presidential election, Word Lettuce Mugumbo (Darky, Lessa and Pufta Party), has been decisively defeated and totally trumped.

Blimp campaigned from a platform emphasising his promise to tackle the overriding political issues facing the principality today. Firstly, the debasement of the Tipton groat. During his tenure, the incumbent president, Senile Decrepitus, has had the tumultuous temerity to mint billions of silver coinage not supported by the principality's silver reserves. Consequently, rampant inflation has run amock. The price of turnips, the staple of the Tipton table, has gone from the humble: one groat, one turnip, to the unabashed ten groats, one turnip. Ferret food has quadrupled in price, resulting in a much slender and disgruntled Shagger. Secondly, Blimp has vowed that he will gather up all the dirty thieving gypos that have swamped the land, chuck them unto the midden pit and expunge them by conflagration. In contrast, Lettisha's policy advocates the disbursement of free fairy wands to all and sundry and the introduction of 52 new pronouns- er, that is it.

In a speech before the election, Word Lettuce stated, with conviction: "So, I think it's very important, as you have heard from so many incredible leaders, for us at every moment in time, and certainly this one, to see the moment in time in which we exist and are present, and to be able to conceptualise it, to understand where we exist in the history and in the moment as it relates not only to the past but the future." Wise words indeed, Lettuce.

After the results were announced, the outgoing president, Ramshackle, said, "I want my milk and cookies, you hear, you no good ferret soldiers."

This election was marked by unprecedented support for Word Lettuce by noted/notorious Tipton celebs. After the results, celebs came out to weep uncontrollably, gnashing their teeth in a collective, foot-stamping tantrum.

Sartor 'Legs Akimbo' Celeri has expressed extreme dismay at the unfolding proceedings and stated volubly. "I'm leaving this land of poverty-stricken proles. I'm orwf with my cache of millions of groats to live in neighbouring Dudley. Arse."

The noted thespian and mummer, Jorge Looney, had this to say after the final results showed an unequivocal win for Blimp. "Oh wow is me. A great calamity has befallen the land. A creeping miasma of doom has belched forth, enveloping the United States of Tipton and Associated Environs, including West Smethwick and Netherton North, in a stygian darkness. Blackness and a catastrophe-laden future awaits all..... Where do I cash my check?"

Indeed, folks, we live in interesting times