Gen V

          Back in my days as a callow, blissfully ignorant youth, I took very little interest in world affairs, but I do remember the much-reported phenomenon dubbed “the brain drain”. It was probably the catchy phrase that caught my attention, not the economics behind it, but it referred to the exodus of Britain’s finest scientists to the USA, where higher salaries were to be had.

          This memory was jogged by current reports that the drain is active once again, only this time in the opposite direction and for a different reason. Scientists are heading east across the Atlantic because the MAGA movement has taken against the inconvenient truths that evidence-based science presents. For example, the politically appointed head of the US Food & Drug Administration (FDA) this week overruled their team of scientists and refused, out of hand, to approve Moderna’s latest mRNA flu vaccine for trial. The decision was only reversed when Big Pharma flexed its money muscles and reminded the kleptocratic administration that it has other options when it comes to which jurisdiction it chooses to operate within.

          I consider myself fortunate to be of Generation V (for Vax) and never refuse the offer of protection against nasties such as the flu, but when my sister told me during a catch-up call that she and her husband had recently had a shingles jab, I was surprised and a little envious – surprised that I didn’t know there was such a thing and envious because I hadn’t been offered it. On looking into the matter, I find I’m in the last year of the qualifying age range but, unlike with flu, the invitation to get jabbed is not automatic. I could toddle up to the clinic and get done but what deters me is the knowledge, imparted by my sister, that the side-effects are rather painful for a couple of days. So, for now, I’m managing the risk – mainly by crossing my fingers.

          Besides, because I haven’t been ill for years, I’m lulled into a feeling of invincibility. Why, only last week, I spent a few enjoyable days in London, socialising, pottering and feeling tickety-boo all the while. I even made a new acquaintance, older than me and seemingly fit-as-a-fiddle. It was another of those situations whereby you share a small table with a stranger and decide whether or not to engage. I was unsure. He looked dapper, in an eccentric way, but then Eddy, as he was called, made the first move. He showed me his phone, on which was displayed a quotation by one of the ancient Greeks (I forget which), We have two ears and one tongue, so that we may listen more and speak less. Eddy chuckled and said, “The world needs more of that.” I found it hard to disagree, then listened to his life story for the next twenty minutes.

          The following day, we caught the train home. It’s a three-hour run and, on this occasion, the train was rammed. A young couple with babe-in-arms boarded late and had to take the only seats available, one in front of mine and the other across the aisle. Pretty soon, the person sitting next to the mother and child offered to switch places with the father, so that the family could be together. “How kind”, they said and settled in contentedly, but it wasn’t long before the real reason for the act of kindness became apparent; the mother had a stinking cold, the kind that you just know is contagious.

          Well, it turns out I’m not invincible. As I work my way through another box of balsam-infused Kleenex my hopes are pinned on the news I heard this morning that American scientists have developed an anti-cold vaccine. Let’s hope that either the FDA has learned its lesson, or that the brain drain hastens the heroic scientists eastwards.