Juliette Murray was, like me, a kid at school who got 5 “A”s, which in the West of Scotland put a certain degree of pressure on one’s shoulders to study either medicine or law. I studied European Law, and became a teacher - that's what a European Law degree does to you. She studied medicine and is today a practicing doctor, but the education bug is firmly rooted in what she chose to do next. Murray noticed that, particularly in her local area, fewer students were applying to study medicine than the population number would suggest should. Not only that, nationally the number of medical students dropping out after beginning their course of study is increasing. She wondered if we might we persuade a more representative cross section of the community to become doctors. She set about improving the opportunities for local youngsters, aged 14/5, at the time of their work experience choices. Existing work experience for those who want to gain an insight into the world of medical doctors is a sanitised course in an educational skills centre, where bored teenagers endlessly take each other’s blood pressure. They have more chance of a realistic insight by breaking their arm and turning up to Accident and Emergency. As any dad-to-be donning surgical greens knows, getting into an operating theatre is where a passion for surgery will be born or, in my case, definitely put to one side as a career option. So, the question became: how might we offer a more realistic experience of what being a doctor, surgeon or other medical profession feels like? Starting with her local hospital, Wishaw General in NHS Lanarkshire, she set about overcoming what she describes as a “culture of obstacles”. Two years later, though, and students are indeed undertaking real life surgery work experience, experiencing a live operation theatre and seeing the pressure of the job first hand. What is Juliette's race - Asian - Caucasian - not enough information - African
not enough information

It's axiomatic that all cultures reserve a special place for food in their daily and social lives. For something as simple as a cuppa joe, we schedule and juggle our time to meet at predetermined locations to share conversation and libation. Meals require even more effort and the social ramifications increase. One is expected to show up on time, sometimes dress to certain standards and bring one or many bottles of wine as a thoughtful gift to the hosts. And of course, the food is just an excuse to get together with friends to enjoy a meal, share stories, to discuss or seduce, to seal an agreement or act as a prelude to a severance of relations (frequently unintentionally). I was first introduced to dining for pleasure as opposed to sustenance while at the University of New Brunswick. I lived in Bridges House, one of the men's residences. The young, eager, bright-eyed students in each residence were kept more or less in check by a Don. Each residence had its share of maniacs and troublemakers who were at university to get some form of education, alcohol poisoning or a social disease; sometimes all three. The Don's job was to act as a mentor and prison warden. Imagine a building housing up to 100 young adult men. It doesn't take much to start a riot. In our case, the Don was Locutus. When we met him, he must have been in his forties but looked to us adolescents to be older than Father Time. He was immediately dubbed 'Grandpa Munster'. With the tender sensitivity of males of our age, we didn't bother to hide this from him and he took it in good humour. In point of fact, Locutus was a great Don; firm when he needed to be and understanding and helpful as appropriate. You crossed this guy at your peril, but he was generally pretty tolerant. What is a probably cuppa joe? - not enough information - A cup of tea. - A cup of hot cocoa. - A cup of coffee.
A cup of coffee.

I ducked, Cerberus pounced, and Mr. Waciejowski screamed like a dying ferret--a soothing and pleasant sound under most other circumstances, but now only distracting. I felt the rush of air against my face as the crowbar skimmed my head. The man wielding it was in a black three-piece suit and built like a Texas linebacker. His mass seemed to bend space-time in the parking lot as he barreled down on me. All I could see was nearly seven feet of Armani silk. I stood upright and brought my knee into his groin and gave him a swift elbow in the small of his back and a fist to the base of his skull. Now, I wasn't the biggest guy in the world, but I certainly wasn't the smallest either. And I was also acutely aware of how much damage I could do to another human being. But this hulking mass in Italian finery didn't even seem phased. The blows I sent this guy should have dropped him like a bag of wet cement, but he just turned and hamstringed me with that damn crowbar. I fell so hard that one of my teeth chipped. The box flew out of my grip and landed just a few feet away. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Pete on the ground, fumbling with his cell phone while Cerberus mauled another suit trying to sneak up behind me. If the fall hadn't knocked the wind out of me, seeing Cerberus tear into this guy certainly would have. The dog was all fangs and fur, making sounds like construction machinery. Thick and heavy. The guy was screaming all kinds of nonsense as he kept his shredded arms in front of his face and neck. Blood and fabric flew about as the animal tossed its head in violent arcs. Why the dog was all fangs and fur? - Because it met Pete - Because of the fight - not enough information - Because it was hungry
