Page 6 - Summer 14

BAHVS President’s Letter by Mark Elliott
Well. It’s time for my last presidential piece for the Mag before handing over the reins to Jane Keogh at the conference.
It really has been a pleasure, and a fairly easy ride, being President of BAHVS. The association has been through a sort of fine tuning, per- haps not of its own making, and I feel we have in effect found our- selves to have a solid, committed and enthusiastic core of individuals capable of taking homeopathy to another level over the next few years. We have our house in order regarding data and evidence. I feel we have accepted our place in the new, more international world, having been leaders in the growth this century and it’s great to see others now taking on the message more and setting up training in other countries and beyond. I feel we will continue to prove very influential worldwide through our members.
If this all sounds rather grand and retiring, it is not at all. Free of the shackles of being your representative I have some developing ideas for my "retirement" and am looking forward to putting them out there – watch this space. I am retiring also from RCVS Council in 2015 after 12 years. I feel I cannot do more there than I have achieved, but I hope I have in being there shown that we homeopaths are more than rea- sonable people and true professionals and deserve considerable
respect for our commitment to our philosophy and convictions in the face of adverse publicity within the profes- sion. No publicity is bad publicity and forsuchafewofus,wedoseemtofill column inches!
We have an exciting summer and
Autumn ahead, especially with Geoff
Johnson's exploits speaking at the
South West and London Vet Shows,
and also of course our conference in
September – I hope to see everyone there and do book early as it helps the committee in its planning (No pressure from Wendy there... ).
I'd like to thank all the team of the last few years for their efforts and support. To mention a few: Wendy for always being on the case, Stuart for being the backbone of the committee and conference organisation, Jane for being a great sounding board as my junior Vice, Nick for ever useful ideas and the odd late night chat, and of course Malene and Phil for the Mag. See you in September! Over to you Jane............x
Doesn’t he ramble? by Guy Mewha-Williams
Some of you might remember the tale of the collision between an exceedingly heavy storage heater and my big toe that I related about a year or so back in this very magazine. Initially I had put the story in my practice newsletter and it proved to be quite popular – a bit more interesting than the usual stuff about fleas and worms. My clients seemed to have a morbid interest in events that caused me dis- comfort in various degrees. So, in the light of this I wrote another piece for the newsletter, which I thought you might like to share now. The amount of pain endured this time was not in the same league as last time but let’s say it had plenty of potential. As I mentioned in the last article, anyone expecting a quality disserta- tion on a topical homoeopathic subject should skip this part of the magazine and move onto richer ground elsewhere. Just remember, I don’t do serious – a trait that has got me into a bit of trouble over the years. I won’t even men- tion the several ex Mrs Mewha-Williams’ at this point either.
So, I will start at the beginning. I had just fin- ished a house visit and feeling relatively pleased with myself, and mentally patting myself on the back as that was yet another life saved. I was driving along the Gloucester Road in Cheltenham heading for the station. You might be thinking at this point, “Do I really need to know all this stuff? Doesn’t he ramble?” Well,
yes you could be right, but I do like to set the scene, and those of you who know Cheltenham might appreciate the information. To state that I was driving a metallic green Citroen Berlingo 1.9 diesel with cruise control is probably more information than you need so I won’t tell you that. To return to the story, as I approached the station, I noticed a warm glow between my thighs. Now, I can imagine it is at this point that my literary audience is starting to polarise into two distinct groups. Half of you are already making up your own plot and punch lines for what happens next. The other half are probably choking on your Ovaltine [Malt extract/ suger/wey drink, Ed.] muttering words like “sex fiend” or “pervert” or “castration is too good for him”. It is at this stage in the proceedings I should say that, by and large, the worryingly smutty tone to this article does moderately improve. The glow was now becoming seriously hot but, interestingly, moved to the side when I pulled my body warmer aside. Aha, I thought, the heat source was in my pocket. Nervously I placed my surgeon’s right hand into my pocket to find a pile of poo bags. As the owner of a 2.4kg Chihuahua you can’t be too careful. Further investigation, however, revealed a load of loose change and then, deep in the corner, a battery. This was one of those 9v jobbies. You know, one of those square ones with the posi- tive and negative terminals at the top. Therein was the crux of the problem, my loose change
was shorting across the poles on the battery. So much so, that the “square” battery was now an almost incandescent beach ball ready to explode like a super nova at any moment. Luckily for me, the highly tuned thermal detec- tion mechanisms present within my trousers alerted me to the impending disaster. Just as well I spotted it too, otherwise instead of being Ever Ready, I could have ended up Never Ready at that location.
The battery cooled down and, thankfully, that was the end of the drama. It did make me won- der however, what I would have done if it had gone off, apart from swerve all over the road that is. Cold water would, I suppose, have helped. I did have a can of Coke in the car at the time. I am not sure if the bubbles would aid the situation. I could have driven like a demon back to the surgery and swallowed some Cantharis for burning. And then it came to me, the obvious homeopathic answer, if only I had it in stock – “where the hell did I put that Duracell 6C?”
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