Thought for the Day

"You do not need to do anything; you do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. You do not even need to listen; just wait. You do not even need to wait; just become still, quiet and solitary and the world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked. It has no choice. It will roll in ecstasy at your feet." -- Franz Kafka

Speaking of Honest Matters

An early seventeenth century proverb informs us that, for practical as well as moral reasons, honesty is the best policy. Oliver Cromwell, when writing to the High Sheriff of Suffolk, Sir William Spring, in 1643, remarked that ‘a few honest men are better than numbers’. In 1814, Jane Austen recognised the difficulties of positions of power when she was writing her novel, Mansfield Park, remarking that ‘we do not look in great cities for our best morality’. Yet only with the pursuit of honesty in public life as well as in private, can one hope to achieve the safe haven spoken of by the Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius when he said ‘nowhere can a man find a quieter or more untroubled retreat than in his own soul’. Today, the Oxford English Dictionary informs us that ‘honesty’ is being ‘free of deceit; truthful and sincere; simple and unpretentious; genuine and straightforward’.

Why is it then, with over two thousand years wherein leaders in a variety of fields have recognised that being honest is an imperative of life, do we find ourselves confronted by newspaper headlines informing us that honesty appears to be the last moral value adhered to within the NHS? In the past few weeks we have seen a number of these, not least those proclaiming ‘Rotten NHS culture led to cover-ups’, followed by discussions of ‘institutional secrecy’, ‘NHS scandals’ and regulators ‘suppressing evidence of failures’. The Secretary of State for Health, the Rt Hon Jeremy Hunt MP, was even moved to make a speech in which he demanded a ‘new culture of openness, transparency and accountability’, whilst also recognising that ‘the best motivated people do make mistakes’.

That latter comment is important, for the pursuit of honesty is not the same, and should never be the same, as the pursuit of litigation for negligence. In an honest workplace, with every person sincerely striving for the common good, negligence should be a rare beast that raises its head. Honesty underpins the act of doing the right thing at the right time and then being clear about what it was that was done; even if, with the value of  hindsight, matters could have been done in a better way.

In the same speech as that mentioned above, Jeremy Hunt went on to state that the success of a new culture of openness and transparency ‘will depend on the right incentives and consequences’, citing the need for greater powers for the regulatory bodies such as the Care Quality Commission (CQC). However, regulation and regulators are not the answer; they have never been the answer. Regulators are merely ‘the dust-carts that follow the Lord Mayor's Show of life’ as the NHS commentator Roy Lilley recently put it. They tell us what went wrong in the past; they do not give us reassurance that all is well in the present.

No; it is not more regulation that we need. What we need is for those working in the NHS (and politics, and any other facet of public life) to be honest. For only on the solid bedrock of honesty, do we have the capability of building the necessary facets of a valued and enduring society.

First published in the Scunthorpe Telegraph, 4 July 2013

© Copyright Robert M Jaggs-Fowler 2013

Fancy Doing Something for Nothing?

The American Psychological Association’s Psychology and Ageing Journal may not be the preferred bedtime reading for many people in North Lincolnshire. However, this month it contains an article that we all ought to be aware of. According to researchers at the Carnegie Mellon University (I know, but we won’t let the name distract us), the process of volunteering is helpful in bringing about a reduction in blood pressure.  Now, when was the last time you volunteered to do something for nothing? The employed might retort that they work for nothing for the first five months of the year (Tax Freedom Day being somewhere around the middle of May in the UK), but I am assuming that doesn’t count, otherwise we wouldn’t have such a high demand for blood pressure pills in this country.

High blood pressure is a major risk factor in heart disease, strokes and kidney disease, so it is worth taking seriously. The American research suggests that positive lifestyle factors such as volunteering can have a major impact on blood pressure through the chemical processes that bring about the ‘feel good factor’. To benefit, a person has to perform voluntary work for at least 200 hours per year.

Of course, one’s blood pressure isn’t the only thing to benefit from volunteering. Volunteering also helps to build a caring society, reduces social exclusion, makes an economic impact (adding £4.8 billion to the UK’s finances), opens up social networks, brings interesting and exciting new experiences, improves personal skills, enhances personal development, and improves employment and career prospects. From a medical perspective, stress levels are also often reduced, which may be part of the way in which volunteering reduces blood pressure. So, all in all, it is a good thing to do.

Meanwhile, in other areas of this week’s medical press, we learn that the Department of Health has decided that there is no evidence to support the concept that GPs are not capable of working in General Practice until their 68^th birthday. Ironically, the same report acknowledges that the same GPs may not be motivated to work that long. Motivation is a multifaceted beast, but it has a lot to do with job satisfaction, manageable workloads, and not feeling exhausted before getting to lunchtime (in itself a vague concept these days). Even more ironically, on the same day the above report was published, other reports highlighted (as though it wasn’t already clear) that General Practice is at breaking point and cannot be looked to in order to solve the country’s A&E crisis.

Nonetheless, that didn’t stop NHS England suggesting that GPs should provide 24/7 ‘decision support’ (whatever that means) to tackle the out of hours problems. Neither did a national lack of GPs stop the Care Quality Commission announcing that it would close GP practices that didn’t stay open long enough to satisfy patient demand. I may be losing the plot here, but will someone please explain to me how that solves the problem? Even as I write, I can feel my blood pressure rising. Perhaps a quick spot of voluntary work will help? Now, I wonder whether emptying the dishwasher and putting the rubbish out, before Mrs J-F tells me to do it, will count towards my 200 hours per year target?

First published in the Scunthorpe Telegraph, 27 June 2013

© Copyright Robert M Jaggs-Fowler 2013 

What do you want?

I recently had a go a cutting my throat. Needless to say, it wasn’t a clean sweep, otherwise I would not now be writing this column. Either that or I would be making a small post-mortem fortune in describing the true goings on from the ‘other side’. My wife immediately suspected that I had been listening to Mahler’s 5^th Symphony; for me, a wonderful work with an unfathomable depth of emotion to it. For my wife, it represents a morose person about to commit suicide. It is interesting how music affects people in different ways. However, the truth is that I was not listening to Mahler.

Neither was I contemplating whether to interview the young doctor who put in his curriculum vitae that his hobby was listening to ‘vintage rock’. It was the word ‘vintage’ that stopped me in my tracks (sorry; for those who still have LPs stored in the loft, I couldn’t resist that pun); as he then went on to explain that the term ‘vintage’ meant music from the 60s. As I was born in 1960, it was a new experience to be considered by implication as ‘vintage’.

No, the truth of the matter was that my razor head fell apart; giving the blade a new found freedom that heretofore it had only dreamt of. The result was a one inch gash a little too close to my left carotid artery for comfort. Fortunately, I survived the auto-mutilation and can now devote some time to contemplating how I wish to continue keeping well and live an independent life in North Lincolnshire. Which is all a very long-winded way of bringing me to the point of this week’s subject.

North Lincolnshire’s Clinical Commissioning Group (CCG) is, since April 2013, the organisation responsible for buying health services. The CCG is now keen to know your views; views that will help to inform how services are developed within our county. The question being asked is ‘what needs to happen so that you and yours feel confident about keeping well and living an independent life to the full?’ The CCG is keen for people of all ages to contribute to this learning process. What would make a difference for you and your family? How do we need to develop health and social services to help and support your aims and needs?

There are two ways in which you can become involved with this important survey. The first is to simply go on-line and complete a survey here, giving us the opportunity to see how you see life. The second is to attend a public meeting on Thursday 27 June 2013 between 9.30 – 14.30 at the Wortley House Hotel, Rowland Road, Scunthorpe, North Lincolnshire DN16 1SU. The organisers say that the event will be ‘fun, inspiring and you will learn a lot’.

Finally, if you want to learn more about public health inequalities and what people die of in your area, enter your postcode into the Longer Lives website and see how we compare to other areas: http://longerlives.phe.org.uk/. Fortunately, self-beheadings do not seem to feature for my street, so I may be okay for a while longer.

First published in the Scunthorpe Telegraph, 20 June 2013

© Copyright Robert M Jaggs-Fowler 2013       

Gallantry and the Ungallant

My faith in human nature has been partially restored this past fortnight by the myriad of telephone calls by worried patients wishing to express their concern that we live in such an uncaring world that a GP could be left stranded by the roadside whilst half his local community simply drove past without bothering to enquire as to his well-being. Many have gone to great lengths to reassure me that they did not pass me by on that fateful day; and furthermore, to emphasise that, if they had seen me, they would most certainly have stopped to give assistance. Such an outpouring of goodwill is gratefully received; so much so that, contrary to data protection laws, I have made a note of your contact details and will ensure that you all receive a daily printout of my future travel plans.

Not that I am likely to need you, thanks to an enterprising local business couple who have devised the ultimate emergency aid for doctors. Kindly presenting me with the prototype at the start of a recent consultation, the aid consists of a protective cardboard storage tube in which is housed a rolled-up warning sign. On green paper (green for medical and no doubt also fluorescent in headlights – clever people these entrepreneurs), the sign boldly proclaims ‘STOP! THE DOCTOR’S CAR IS NOT WELL!’ Thank you. I shall most certainly display it next time I breakdown; if only to assist my aforementioned telephone rescue brigade in finding me.

Sadly, the same gushing sentiments cannot be written about my declining faith in the medico-political world. If the incessant public bashing of doctors in particular and healthcare professionals in general was not sufficient, a Conservative health minister has now got to the nub of the problem. The difficulties of the NHS have nothing to do with decades of political interference and mismanagement, underfunding, inadequately resourced training, mindless bureaucratic targets, and burnt-out GPs. No, the problem has been staring us in the face all the time. It is the fault of women; or to be more precise, female GPs. At least it is according to Ms Anna Soubry MP. Why? Because women want to mix a working life with caring for their families, and thus wish to work part-time; thereby putting a strain on the NHS. Her outdated and derogatory comments understandably caused outrage amongst the medical profession and feminist movements alike, and did nothing to bolster the failing reputation of politicians. With women making up over 55% of today’s medical students, the future of general practice is as a female profession. In itself, that is not necessarily a bad thing; after all, are we not told by anthropologists that women are biologically geared to be more caring in nature than men? If that is the case, I know which sex I would wish to be sorting out my multiple pathologies of old age. No, Ms Soubry, the problem is not the women, but the failure of Westminster to recognise the changing face of the world’s working patterns, and to ensure that more doctors are trained in order to facilitate part-time working, flexible-working, and job-sharing. Paraphrasing the words of Henry II, who will rid me of these turbulent politicians? Perhaps my new-found band of ‘community vigilantes’ could help?

First published in the Scunthorpe Telegraph, 13 June 2013

© Copyright Robert M Jaggs-Fowler 2013

A Pilgrimage on Life's Odyssey

If life is the greatest journey of all, then last week I went on one small pilgrimage within my life’s odyssey. Of course, a pilgrimage is usually thought of as a religious undertaking; the process of travelling for religious reasons to somewhere held to be sacred. My pilgrimage was not truly a religious one, but more spiritual in nature; meaning the seeking of something or somewhere that elevates my sense of well-being.

There are several such places I can rely on for spiritual sustenance. One of these is nearer to home; being the entire North Yorkshire Dales. I have often joked that, during the week, my body can be found working in North Lincolnshire whilst my soul is freely roaming around the Yorkshire Dales. When time allows, I don walking boots and a back pack and stride into the dales where, with a sigh of pleasure and a great sense of freedom, my soul re-joins my body and I am once again as one with the world around me.

If that seems a trifle odd, you may then find it hard to believe that a small portion of my soul also lives in the remote and deserted mountain village of Vouni in Cyprus. With a chequered history that includes being a centre for EOKA (the National Organisation of Cypriot Fighters, who fought a campaign for the end of British rule of Cyprus) the village was down to a population of about 136 in 2001. Most of the old stone houses are now empty, abandoned and crumbling; with the cobbled streets echoing to little more than the occasional footsteps of the inquisitive traveller.

However, despite its past, there is one stone house that held my attention when I first stumbled across it a few years ago. Tucked away in a narrow side street, it stands as a detached sentinel, waiting. Lizards have been its only inhabitants for some years; the paint on its shutters is peeling, and the doors are held fast by rusty bolts. A balcony adorns the first floor at the front, appearing to stay in place more by an act of levitation than any means of construction; whilst a rambling bougainvillea entwines the whole in its rose-red petals. It is a potential haven just waiting for a writer or artist; its empty rooms echoing to the sound of chatter and untold stories amidst filtered beams of sunlight. I was smitten at first sight; so much so that a small portion of my soul was left there, recumbent in the shade of its courtyard.

We all need places of retreat, where we can recharge our batteries. However, we do not need to own them to experience their life-enhancing power. Neither do we always need to travel far; it may be somewhere very close to home that works for you. For the sake of physical and mental health, it is important to find that place, or those places in your life, and to tap into their revitalising power from time to time.

First published in the Scunthorpe Telegraph, 30 May 2013

© Copyright Robert M Jaggs-Fowler 2013

Who is my Neighbour?

Last week I related the experience of having dropped my Smart car into a pothole, only to find that, when it re-emerged, it didn’t work anymore. I likened the process of contacting the RAC and the subsequent service received, along with the aftercare by the local council, to that of a patient seeking medical assistance. What I didn’t describe was the distinct lack of Good Samaritans on the B1218 at 1pm on a sunny Tuesday afternoon.

For those who are not regular readers, my moribund car had drifted to a halt on the Barton to Brigg road, just before the B1206 turn-off for Barrow and the A15 intersection. It is a fast road and not the sort of place a sane person would normally park. However, over the course of three hours, despite the fact that over one hundred assorted cars, vans, lorries and tractors passed by, not one person paused to find out if I was okay, or offer assistance.

Now, it is true that many did look in my direction, and several had to stop behind me before being able to pass by, so it is not the case that they didn’t see me. It is also true to say that many will have recognised me; I certainly recognised them as local people. No doubt they all had their reasons for not stopping (perhaps some used it as retribution for not being able to get an appointment at the surgery). However, one thing is for certain, they couldn’t have concluded that seeing a local GP sitting on a crash-barrier in the middle of nowhere, with his car at a strange angle and partially obstructing the road, was a normal activity in the early afternoon, midweek. Unless they thought I was merely taking the opportunity of the sunshine and topping up my vitamin D level; though I can think of safer ways.

The episode raised an interesting question for me in respect to how we see each other in the 21^st century. The Catechism in the Book of Common Prayer reminds me that ‘My duty towards my Neighbour is to love him as myself, and do to all men, as I would they should do unto me.’ It is a direct reflection of both the Bible’s Old Testament (Leviticus 19:18) and the New Testament (St Matthew 22:38). My question is, if we cannot extend such exhortations to those within our own community, what chance is there for our neighbours in today’s so called ‘global village’? The Good Samaritan helped a stranger because he saw his need. If we cannot help someone who is not a stranger but well known to us, how can we counter the vast needs we see in other parts of our country and the wider world?

Maybe those who passed me by perceived the truth that I was essentially okay. However, I suspect that many were too busy, too distracted, or just too indifferent to even think about asking. What, then, does my breakdown tell us about our true ability to meaningfully respond to our neighbours in the wider world?

First published in the Scunthorpe Telegraph, 23 May 2013

© Copyright Robert M Jaggs-Fowler 2013

Feeling the Bumps

I had to call upon one of the emergency services last week to assist me. They were very helpful and, within an hour, I had professional assistance by my side. He made sure the situation was safe before greeting me politely and taking a quick history. He then proceeded to examine the problem, made a preliminary diagnosis, and tried treating the condition. Sadly, relapse occurred after a short distance of mobility and, despite two more attempts at treatment, we finally agreed to call a halt. There was nothing for it but to call for transport and whisk me off to hospital. Well, at least my Smart car was whisked off to a car hospital. I had an afternoon’s work to do.

I have to say that the RAC provided a first class service. They answered the telephone quickly, were caring in their approach, had assistance to me as quickly as possible and, before that, kept me informed throughout by regular telephone updates. The patrolman was incredibly attentive and went out of his way to be of help, with a ‘nothing is too much trouble’ attitude (even to the point of running me home to collect another car whilst we waited for the transporter to arrive.)  The driver of the car ‘ambulance’ from Gallows Wood Services was equally caring and soon had my car delivered to the garage, where it has since been operated on.

As a postscript, the aftercare has also been good. Even the local council sprang to life with the rapid mobilisation of community care in the guise of the Mayor of Barton upon Humber, Councillor Paul Vickers. Within 24 hours, he ensured that his office staff had been informed of the whereabouts of the offending pothole and, the last I knew, he was seen striding up the B1218 armed with a can of yellow spray paint.

Likewise, Smart cars are usually wonderful things; small, nippy, easy to park and very economical. At least that is how they are until one hits a pothole or two in the road. Once that happens life has the propensity to come to an abrupt halt, with the prospect of helplessly sitting staring at a ploughed field, or the equivalent, for several hours. At least it was a sunny day and the birds were singing.

However, the analogy between my car hitting a pothole and the subsequent care received from those coming to my assistance, made me think about our journeys through life and how unexpected events have the ability to bring us to an abrupt halt. I also recognised an analogy between the services provided to me by the RAC and Gallows Wood Services with that experienced by patients in the NHS. Our hopes and expectations would be very similar: swift, expert and compassionate care interlaced throughout with good communication; followed through with focused community support after the event. It is what we all want at times of crisis, and I don’t think it is too much to ask for, is it?  

First published in the Scunthorpe Telegraph, 16 May 2013

© Copyright Robert M Jaggs-Fowler 2013

Putting Lie to the Myth

I recently had the audacity (according to some patients) to take ten days off and go on holiday with my wife. Astonishingly, when I arrived back in the UK, I found that my aeroplane had become a time machine. I had not simply switched time zones, but was greeted by newspaper headlines proclaiming that GPs were to be tasked with providing 24-hour care, and that the concept of the ‘family doctor’ was going to be revived. I had gone back not just ten years or so, but a few generations, for there was even mention of Dr Finlay.

For the youngest of my readers, Dr Finlay was the leading character in a BBC television series from the 1960s. The stories were based on A J Cronin’s novella called Country Doctor; itself based on fictitious tales of medical practice in a small Scottish town in the 1920s. So, Dr Finlay was a mythological character, and one whose style of practice is a century out of date. A myth is, of course, a traditional story concerning a widely held false belief, a fictitious person or thing. The poet, W B Yeats, wrote of the folly of believing in such stories in his poem ‘A Coat’: ‘I made my song a coat/Covered with embroideries/Out of old mythologies/From heel to throat;/But the fools caught it/Wore it in the world’s eye/As though they’d wrought it./Song, let them take it,/For there’s more enterprise/In walking naked.’

Well, the present Secretary of State for Health, Mr Jeremy Hunt, appears to have a new coat. It may look fine in many people’s eyes, but I predict it will leave him looking foolish when the truth is realised and reality is seen for what it is. Somebody needs to tell Mr Hunt that Dr Finlay is not only dead, his real-life counterparts practised medicine at a time of home visits on horse-back, when medicines were tinctures of coloured water, and the sun shone from May to September.

Now, I am sure that I speak on behalf of all my colleagues when I say that we strongly believe that everyone deserves good out-of-hours medical care. Nobody wishes to deny anyone that service, and it is what we need to strive for. However, it cannot be provided by a GP who has already worked a 12-hour day; therein lays danger for everyone. So the first myth to go is that of the ‘family doctor’. Even if GPs were to provide the care, it would still be a miracle if you saw your ‘own’ doctor.

Training more doctors to become GPs is a good start, and that must be supported by increased funding to allow them to be sensibly employed within a 24-hour service. Sadly, such an influx will be many years off. So, Mr Hunt, let us start talking sensibly about the problem; which means dropping the myth-speak, and not simply dumping the problem onto General Practice without giving us the tools to do the job properly. Our patients, your constituents, deserve more than fables and buck-passing.

First published in the Scunthorpe Telegraph, 12 June 2013

© Copyright Robert M Jaggs-Fowler 2013

A Collective Accolade

A few weeks ago, I received an e-mail via this newspaper’s office. It came from a local resident who knew me from many years ago when we were both serving Queen and Country. (Well, ok, I admit that much of that was whilst also enjoying a weekend or two under green canvas out in the English countryside, or suffering the rigours of postings to far-flung places like Gibraltar. Nonetheless, our spirit was in it.)

Anyway, this old acquaintance of mine had taken the kindly trouble to write with his own reflections regarding the National Health Service and the selfless dedication of those who enter the caring professions; this being sparked by his own knowledge of a young person set upon entering the medical profession. As someone whose retirement is sitting on the horizon, it is reassuring to me to know that enthusiastic young people are likely to be qualifying as doctors just at the time when I might need them in my dotage. However, in true Ronnie-Corbett-style, I digress. The point is that the e-mail ended with the following comment: ‘I'd be grateful if you could give a firm and well-deserved pat on the back to all serving "medics" in your excellent column’. Humbly forgoing the reference to my column, I therefore hereby thank you for your gracious words, kind Sir, on behalf of all my Northern Lincolnshire medical and nursing colleagues.

The reason I have chosen to include my reader-correspondent’s comment this week is that it times well with the publication of the findings of a review by the Commonwealth Fund International Surveys, called ‘How Does the UK Perform? Improving the Quality of Primary Care: An International Perspective’. This presents a very different picture of Primary Care (General Practice) to that constantly being put about by politicians hell-bent on undermining the morale of health professionals in general, and GPs in particular. The findings make for interesting reading and should offer some reassurance to our community that we (the doctors and nurses) really are trying our best on your behalf.

Whilst noting that the NHS is not particularly good when it comes to easy communication across the various sites of the NHS, or in respect to the time available to spend with patients, it did have the following positive comments:

Compared to other countries, the NHS has the second lowest health spending per capita; the lowest ‘cost related access problems’ to primary care; the joint best same or next day access to general practitioners; the least difficulty in accessing out of hours care without needing to attend A&E; the best access to out of hours care (with noticeable improvement in recent years); the highest access to online repeats and appointments; the least hassle in getting patients needed medications or treatment; the highest scores for management of chronic diseases; is joint second in use of information technology; and is highest in reviewing patient data and outcomes. The review concluded in stating that the UK stands out and performs at the top (or near the top) of the range for many of the above aspects of care.

So, ‘serving medics’, there is your public pat on the back as requested from my correspondent. Well done. Now get off your laurels and go back to work…

First published in the Scunthorpe Telegraph, 9 May 2013

© Copyright Robert M Jaggs-Fowler 2013

A Cauldron of Emotions

As someone who was very content with a portable black and white television until I was thirty-two (well, the news is the same in any colour), I never thought that I would someday find myself reviewing a television programme. However, one recent series had me captured for all eight of its weekly episodes; not just because it was a slow burning ‘whodunit’ type of mystery story, but even more so because of the magnifying glass it held over the emotions of a small community deeply affected by the death of one of its children. I refer, of course, to Broadchurch.

The writer of Broadchurch, Chris Chibnall (who has also written several episodes of Dr Who), has stated that he never intended it to be a murder-mystery suspense story, but had wanted to look closely at how the murder of a child has the capacity to stir up the whole spectrum of human emotions within a close-knit community. Well, my own take on the situation is that he managed the feat of pulling off both aspects with considerable acclaim.

Repeating the plot here is superfluous for anyone who saw the series, and I have no intention of spoiling it for anyone who did not and may wish to find out what they have been missing by other means. What I will comment on is how the story started with the anguish of a child’s death, and went on to evoke scenes of grief, numbness, shock, bewilderment, panic, anxiety, suspicion, envy, passion, anger, depression, doubt, compassion, betrayal, resentment, hatred, ambivalence, confusion, indecision, trust, mistrust, rage, bitterness, pity and forgiveness. The whole gamut of human emotions was entwined throughout the plot, as they weaved their way from character to character like the threads of an invisible spider, until everyone was captured within its sticky web of sentiment and sensation. The 19^th century English novelist Thomas Hardy would have been proud. Set against the backdrop of his native Dorset, Broadchurch was a 21^st century mix of all the human passions stirred up by Hardy’s books such as Jude the Obscure and the Woodlanders.

However, for all of that, the one emotion standing out from all of the others was, for me, the ability for anguish to turn to forgiveness. We saw several examples when individual characters, once thrown upon the helter-skelter of distress, spun for a while in uncontrolled frenzy, only to be rescued by the soft landing of an overwhelming sense of forgiveness. Even the anger of the dead boy’s father turned to pity when finally confronted with the confused, emotional wreck that was the person responsible for the death of his son.

Forgiveness is a layered reaction and is given in degrees. In essence, ‘to forgive’ is to stop feeling angry or resentful towards someone for an offence or mistake. It is not synonymous with a state of unconditional love and trust; such feelings are entirely different. Forgiveness is more a state of neutrality and acceptance. As the 20^th century psychiatrist, Thomas Szasz wrote, ‘The stupid neither forgive nor forget; the naïve forgive and forget; the wise forgive but do not forget’. Broadchurch held a mirror up to us all, and in so doing, reminded us that it is best to be wise.

First published in the Scunthorpe Telegraph, 2 May 2013

© Copyright Robert M Jaggs-Fowler 2013