4 explanations for an unfortunate delay between what you might and I never hear (Dam Drum)

I hadn’t seen my friend in some time and so after my interview in Leeds, I made my cautious journey back down to Birmingham where he inexplicably chooses to live. I say cautious in reference to the fact that there is a distinct problem with heading North in England, and that is the increased population of Northerners and hence risk of encounter. I’m never quite sure what exactly they are saying as meanings are hidden deep beneath forced articulations and colloquialisms. Everyone is eating Hovis, drinking special brew whilst walking up and down cobbled streets with flat caps and a bicycle with a basket in the front, all whilst mumbling something about going ‘down pit.’ Yes, it is a terrifying place indeed. My own special rule, for all of you who are not quite in the know, is to never tread further north than the M25. The moment you arrive anywhere where they don’t toast old Queenie and Maggie T before each and every meal you know you need to get the fuck out. Primitives.

So anyway, I saw my mate and it was nice. We went for dinner at one point where I beat down the urge to get Pizza, only for him to casually throw it into the order. I wanted to punch him. At one point he started talking about ‘Power’ and I told him to shut up and eat his dinner. We’re the best of friends.

Anyway, the point of this video, for any one that cares, is that there is none. This is a Dam Drum, an eponymously made Drum machine and sequencer from Dam-Funk and Stones Throw. Needless to say, I had a lot of fun poking my member at it. What?


in·ter·view /ˈintərˌvyo͞o/ Noun A meeting of people face to face, esp. for consultation.

I saw my registrar with cocaine did I? What do I do? Well of course this is a delicate situation and requires the utmost of tact and so initially, I would do would want to seek more information and… WHAT THE FUCK? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT?? IS THAT EVEN A FUCKING THING? DOES THIS EVER EVEN REALLY HAPPEN??

Interview are the worst aren’t they? Sat in some pretentious hotel in Leeds, which thinks it’s in London, but is actually in Leeds and where the hell is that anyway (doesn’t the world stop north of Birmingham?) is one of the most artificial situations we can put ourselves through in life and is only compounded when Mr Nose Hair (does he know what nose hair clippers are?) who is barely registering the words coming out of your mouth, asks you what you would do if you found your registrar with cocaine?

You mean besides asking him to share it with me? You mean besides thinking about what sort of moron brings class A substances into the Doctor’s Mess and sits them up alongside a homemade ham and cheese sandwich? You mean besides wondering what kind of idiot is caught by me, hardly Colombo, who is more likely to be caught startled under the sudden revelation that he has fingers, than notice his registrar is carrying more talcum powder than usual? What would I do?

I know, I know, that this is an exercise in principles and not product. I understand we are being assessed on our cognitive process as opposed to what ever contextual rubbish that happens to tumble out of our mouths. Of course I would act professionally and appropriately, but what importance does that carry in an interview situation? Do you think my ability to phrase answers coherently, in a systematic manner reflects my ability to think in the same way and simultaneously remove your tonsils? Of course not. This is simply a game, an act, and I am left wondering who has actually being fooled. Us, the interviewees for playing the mindless dirge or the interviewers for tapping their feet along so tunelessly.


Good interviews do not always reflect good doctors. Good doctors do not always give good interviews. Perhaps I am being shortsighted and don’t know of any statistics to say otherwise, but I feel the selection process has been incontrovertibly tainted by awarding marks for whatever clown gives the best performance on the night. I cannot be the only one who feels that surgical aptitude should be based upon a subjective review over time and not over 6 stations in the city of Leeds, who do not even have a premiership football team and who’s greatest output has been an ENT registrar who spent most of his first year, on the phone, simultaneously walking and talking into a wall with genuine zeal. Seriously, I know that guy.