Speccy Kids and Spicy Salad

I'm watching Junior Mastermind. Some speccy kid (one of four) is smirking as he reels off the tenth consecutive answer to questions that would stump your average bloke. I know about as many as he does, but he's only twelve. Still, that smirk is grating on me. What element has the abbreviation Pb? Lead. The capital of Australia? Canberra. The name of King Arthur's magician? Merlin. Shit, I know them but so does he. And his specialist subject was Take That, for God's sake. They split up before he was even born.
But then it happens. Which galaxy contains a cluster of stars, one of which is our own Sun? I know this one, the Milky Way. But his punchable smirk drops. He pauses, and mumbles...the Universe?
No, it's not the fucking Universe, thicko. That's Alex : 1, Speccy Kid : 0. And also, I have a girlfriend, he probably never will. Two nil.
Now I've gotten that off my chest I can chat about something less inflammatory. I went shopping today and noticed that Tesco's have started grading their pre-prepared salads in order of spiciness. The ratings start at "Mild", which includes my own personal favourite Jardin, and then on to "Moderate". Finally you get to the "Spicy" stuff, which includes the presumably tongue boiling variety Rocket. I can picture grown men around the dining table with a Carling, saying things like, "Bloody hell Steve, you always have a Rocket, and you never finish it!", and "Another Crispy Green Baz? You pussy!". For once, my testosterone is not tempted to compete.
I was up at 8am today to start my new rotation, Old Age Care. When we finally find our consultant, he eventually find an empty side room and ran through a case of a patient with renal failure. All very interesting, and it jogged a few points that I need to revise, but it was a little distracting to be spending more than a short while on a ward, neigh an entire hospital level, that smelled so obviously of piss. And the central heating was down too, so it felt like the roof had been blown off and the reconstruction workers had relieved themselves where they worked.
I've got nothing personal against old people. They were young once, and of course, I'll be old in time, and they've had long, interesting lives which have collected much wisdom. But caring for them when they get ill is not easy. Many of them have totally checked out, and only offer a vague piercing stare and extremely limited control of their limbs and bladder. I can and will be caring to the patients under my care but compared to working in A+E, obstetrics or paediatrics for example, the doctors who specialize in Elderly Care must have a subtle feeling that their efforts are eternally in vain. Mrs. Smith's hip op at the age of 85 is not going to give her another sprightly 20 years. She won't have that extra child she craved, be able to continue with her sparkling tennis career, or even go back to work at the Post Office. I sound like such a skeptical bastard, but all I'm saying is that nearly every other speciality must be more rewarding, and I don't see why a competent doctor would freely choose Elderly Care over so many other choices.
I hung around in the library in the afternoon, trying to get some more essay done against my will. I have a strange feeling that I'll still be writing the night before the deadline. Again.