“I Was Born Ready” — Medical Training in My Formative Years

As a child I attended an institution known as Badgers. It’s sort of like Cub Scouts, but it’s connected to the St John’s Ambulance. It’s social interaction via learning and team building for kids who want to remain indoors, with an emphasis on medical training.

My parents enrolled me in this programme without my permission, which I protested in the moment, as even at this age I didn’t enjoy hearing “Surprise! You now have to have two extra social interactions a week, and guess what? Most of them are strangers! Yay!”

Fortunately they only remained strangers for a week or two, and soon my close friends and I became kings of Badgers. Whatever they are, whatever the badger king is called. Probably that one from The Wind in the Willows, right? Yeah, I bet he’s their king.

Badgers had clearly struggled to retain members aged nine and ten, as by the time we reached the age of nine we were running the joint. Well, the adult volunteers were running everything, but we felt as though we were, and that’s probably what matters in the long run.

At Badgers the main goal was to collect badges. This was extremely confusing and not something the organisers had thought about too clearly. Many conversations like the following one were had during my two years as a Badger:

“So what are you doing?”

“I’m a Badger.”

And what do you do as a Badger?”

“We collected badges.”

“You collected badgers!?”

“No, badges.”

“Oh, so you’re a Badge-er? One who collects badges.”

“No, we’re Badgers, but we collect badges, as a badge-er would.”

“…”

“I should’ve joined the scouts.”

Don’t name the institution after the reward you’re planning to hand out, or vice-versa. If you’re dead-sett (that’s a badger joke there) on calling the group ‘Badgers’, then you should have to collect truffles. It’s really quite simple.

We had to wear these weird uniforms that looked way more formal than the teen and adult versions of St John’s Ambulance, who got to wear cool green coats. We wore these black tabard-like things over the top of a white polo shirt.

Polo shirt to a nine year old means school and school is borering, so they weren’t too up to date on the connotations of their branding for a nine year old.

Although, because Badgers was for all genders, and we all wore these lengthly tabards, we all looked like androgynous kids, and that was pretty cool. I’d go as far as to say that I lean towards wearing tight jeans and long flowing shirts because of my time spent in Badgers. My former religious leaders now know who to blame.

I remember working my way through the different six-week courses in order to earn my various badges. One of them was just playing football, so that was pretty fun. This was before I realised that I wasn’t very good at sports, but still enjoyed playing them for the exercise.

The most coveted badge of all was the First Aid Badge. That’s what we were all here for, right? Well, some of us were here because our parents signed us up without asking, but for the majority of people that badge was the ticket to the cool green jacket of the adult world.

The problem was that only four Badgers could take this course at a time, as the leaders wanted to make sure that everyone understood the first-aid training clearly. So my friends and I waited our turn.

Some other kid we knew (I’ll call him Andy) came back from his first-aid training, just before we began ours. Andy bragged about how he could now save any life at any time, anywhere.

After he explained that all you have to do is get-off with a dummy (“really waggle your tongue around in there”), we decided that we didn’t want Andy around us should we ever need any medical assistance.

When it was finally our turn to learn all about First Aid, we were ready. I expected that we would be picked up in an ambulance and immediately thrown into the crux of an emergency.

“She’s crashing, get me ten CCs of metamorphosis, stat. Damn! It’s no good, we’re going to have to bring out the electric paddles that look like telephones but don’t put them to your ears because that would hurt. You! Badger! Can you handle this?”

“I was born ready.”

I snapped out of my daydream just as we were shuffled into a slightly different back room of the community building where Badgers was held. Sure enough, there was a plastic head and torso on the floor and we were encouraged to sit around it.

medicaldummy

None of us could believe that Andy, who thought you had to grope a patient in order to treat them effectively, had been right about the exact nature of first-aid training.

I raised my hand and asked if I could spend the next six weeks getting my Arts and Crafts badge (truffle) because this looks boring. Another one of my friends raised his hand too, as he shared the same opinion. We weren’t at Badgers to fondle a plastic human. No! We were here to save lives dammit! And maybe explore our encroaching puberty by hanging out with hot doctors and nurses.

We were escorted back into the main hall by one of the volunteers, who announced that two slots were now open in first-aid training. Andy leapt to his feet and began puckering his lips as he sprinted for the door.

“Veronica has missed me, I just know it!”

I left Badgers a few months later, as I realised there was nothing left for me to do here. No more worlds to conquer. I’d collected all of the badges apart from the boring first-aid one, and because of that I could never posses one of the cool green jackets.

No green jacket, no point in continuing — A motto that sounds good, but doesn’t make for excellent life advice.

Our rascal-like crew left Badgers by performing a gig (we were also a band, did I not mention that?), despite the fact that only one of us could play their instrument (which was the drums, and he was incredible, but you sort-of need some tune or melody for a casual music performance).

We all just mimed along to a Red Hot Chilli Peppers CD, and in my head I’ll maintain that we were doing a meta-textual comedic performance in order to satirise the lack of talent displayed in modern pop music.

Either that or we were a group of dumb kids who possessed inflated egos, due to the fact that 50% of us had just had their first kiss with a lifeless dummy, and the rest had confidently turned her down because we could still see Andy’s spit congealed in her mouth opening.


Today is Wednesday, January 9th and I wonder if Andy is the kind of guy who owns a sex doll now.

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The Fix Is In

In a bizarre twist, the thing I’ve missed most about British TV has been the prolific amount of panel shows on the air. I understand that their rise has seen a drop-off in scripted comedy, but in recent years the genre has championed young and alternative comics, and I miss that.

America’s first real panel show is now live on Netflix — The Fix is hosted by panel show veteran Jimmy Carr, and captained by Katherine Ryan and D.L Hughley. The premise is that they discuss a major issue effecting society today, and offer comedic solutions, or “fixes”, to the problem at hand.

Jimmy Carr’s monologue at the top of the show is familiar, as it’s in the same style as his 8 Out of 10 Cats openers. Even the delivery of the questions posed, and the back and forth between captains feels the same — To the point where I’m wondering if they brought a few of the writers Stateside along with the on-screen talent.

There are two elements that give this panel show its unique hook. The first is the to-camera arguments made by the team captains each week. They’re pre-written in an almost Daily Show correspondent-esq way. With the use of on-screen graphics and over the top arguments for ridiculous, tongue-in-cheek solutions.

These segments play into the strengths of D.L Hughley, and has him competing for most laughs with panel show experts like Jimmy and Katherine.

The second hook, and perhaps best part of the show, is the inclusion of Mona Chalabi in a statistics segment each episode.

My concern when reading the premise of The Fix was that it would be an irresponsible, lighthearted, almost dangerously flippant discussion of serious modern issues that effect real people in very real ways.

And it sort of is that, in a way. It definitely would be without the inclusion of Mona, who adds legitimacy to the topic of the week by providing raw data, and her excellent brand of easily digestible, graphics-based presentation.

Check out her credentials and career history, she’s doing great things and is a welcome inclusion on The Fix — And perhaps even the crux of its potential long-term success.

monachalibi

The guest comics have been a mixed-bag in the four episodes I’ve watched so far, but that’s to be expected of the panel show format. Some people have looked nervous, while others have displayed confidence and competence.

The key thing about the guest choices, whether they landed or not, is that they’re all stand-up comics. When panel shows work well they champion the current stand-up scene and act as a format for promoting new and touring comics.

And who knows, maybe some American comics just need to get used to the format, and they’ll be much more comfortable on a second appearance. Ron Funches, Al Madrigal and Nikki Glaser were the names who felt at home in this new environment.

The Fix also doesn’t shy away from dark, self-aware jokes that would make some of the great “shock” comics of the past blush. It’s clear that both Carr and Ryan haven’t been toned-down in any way. With Jimmy playing the WASP patsy to many jokes, and Katherine playing her usual role of privileged white-woman who’s very aware of that fact.

Netflix has done an excellent job of booking comics from different backgrounds, and I think that’s the only reason they can get away with some of the jokes being made.

With a diverse cast of comics all poking fun at issues surrounding race, sexuality and immigration, it sticks two middle-fingers to all those who say that “You can’t make jokes about anything anymore, everything is so PC and nanny-state.”

No, it turns out if you invite everyone to the table and not just middle-aged white guys, you can pretty much still make jokes about anything.

The Fix might not end up being the greatest panel show of all time, or even the best one produced in America when all is said and done (and by “all” I mean the human race in 2046). But the key thing is that Netflix have put their best possible foot forward in establishing the genre to American audiences.

By taking experienced panel show performers, not straying too far from the British structure, and using (almost exclusively) American comics, Netflix has hopefully secured the first successful show of the genre.

If you’re a fan of panel shows then you won’t be disappointed with The Fix. If you’re new to panel shows then try to watch as much QI and Would I Lie To You? as possible. Cats Does Countdown is also great for championing alternative comics, although I sometimes think it’s too bizarre a premise for a starting point.

I give The Fix, 5/7 or 7/9, but not 8/10. Maybe like a 7.5. I haven’t settled on a ratings scale yet. Just watch the show for an easy, and surprisingly responsible, bit of tele.


Today is Monday, December 17th and women’s wrestling is currently better than men’s wrestling.

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If you like what I write and can spare a dollar, then it’d be a greatly appreciated act of kindness! If you like what I write and can’t spare a dollar then I greatly appreciate you! If you hate what I write and also can’t spare a dollar, then why are you still reading this?

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