On Beazleys, Germans, Life and House.

The post I was writing earlier got shelved because I was busy doing other things, and now that the moon is over the yard arm I can’t finish it because it was serious and I don’t do serious late at night. Let’s talk about House instead.

I just finished watching the two episodes in which the bad doctor is a voluntary inpatient at a mental facility. Two things were notable:

1. The pretty, chirpy, blonde young psychiatrist was called Dr Beasley. That surprised me because I couldn’t imagine why any scriptwriter would call such a character Beasley. I regard it as the most innocuous of names, and I should know because it was the name I got saddled with when I was eight and I’ve spent the intervening years being just about as innocuous as anybody I know (even though my version of the name is spelt with a z, which makes a bit of a difference but not enough to count.)

2. House fell in love with a thirty-something German woman who was extremely handsome in a slightly softer-than-you-might-expect (of a German) sort of way. If she had an Iron Cross, she was keeping it well hidden. She also had a remarkably engaging personality and I approved of his choice. I’m sure I would have done exactly the same thing in his situation, apart from the sex-in-the-unused-office bit which, though commendably restrained, was still a bit below the belt (if you see what I mean) for a proper Englishman like me. Anyway, the big boss psychiatrist decided that House’s canoodlings were proof positive that he wasn’t a loony any more, so now he can go back to terrorising Cuddy and the rest of the gang. Phew.

As for current events in the life of Mr Beazley, tomorrow I have to present myself at the Royal Derby Hospital, there to give my body over to the wonders of modern science in an attempt to find out whether I’m about to die or not. I find it all a bit nerve-wracking, but life will be life and the conveyor belt is only so long after all. But if there happens to be a handsome, thirty-something German woman sitting next to me – and if she has an engaging personality, is entirely devoid of Iron Crosses, and finds me irresistible – I’ll let you know the outcome. Probably. (And as long as I don’t die through anaphylactic shock when they inject the contrast dye.)

Oh, and one more minor and utterly innocuous little aside: Somebody replied to one of my YouTube comments today with XD, which I had to Google to find out what it meant because all I could think of was X-ray Department. That was nice.