RUDE HEALTH

If youre trying to recover from the Irish being classed amongst the ugliest people in the world, dont be fooled by ridiculous anti-ageing slogans on moisturiser advertisements, stresses Maurice Gueret
A mortal wound was delivered to the sensitive egos of Irishmen last month, when we were lined up beside our Polish chums as the least attractive masculine species in the world. This crucifying news, heralding the discovery of a national gene for male ugliness, emanated from BeautifulPeople.com, a hitherto successful dating website with the sort of entry rules only golf-club bores could dream up. New members have to be screened for facial attractiveness by existing members, and the nub of our predicament is that less than 10 per cent of Irishmen desperate enough to join are accepted. This contrasts unfavourably with Swedish men and Brazilian hombres, who have an acceptance rate of closer to 70 per cent. It may take a generation or more for Irishmen to recover their confidence after such a devastating blow. They have but one small consolation in all this our lovely and fair ladies didn't do very much better, and are in no mood to snigger behind our backs. To be truthful, they did somewhat better than the men. Only 80 per cent of Irish ladies who submitted themselves to the indignity of the beautifulpeople.com selection process were rejected by their peers. And, anyhow, they can always console themselves with another milky bowl of cereal. Yes, the kind people who brought you heart-shaped bottoms, bikini challenges and other daft associations between human-body curves and breakfast cereals, are now adding things like chocolate and strawberries to their healthy breakfasts. Won't be long now before you can get cereal with rashers, salt & vinegar crisps, toffee fudge and whatever else you're having. Help reduce the visible signs of parenting. This advert for the Hydra Energetic skin rub accosted me the other morning as I queued at a bank machine in Dublin. I'm not sure if it's meant to be funny, ironic or serious. The fact it's targeted at men whose skin looks dull and feels dry kind of includes all of us. And as if we don't owe their banks enough, the French are now trying to flog us ridiculously expensive moisturisers. My cynical antennae always prick up at the mention of anti-fatigue and when skin products go on to mention ingredients like Vitamin C and magnesium, I get sceptical. Perfectly good things to have in your asparagus and oranges, but the need to waste them every day on your face, or indeed to pay somebody to mush them into a tube, is less clear in the scientific literature. I love the way they lend these products such international, manly names of heroic nonsense. Hydra is water, something you'll have to pay for soon, and Energetic, as if to reinforce the subliminal message that this potion could in some way benefit your health. What's wrong with visible signs of parenting? If you are doing it right, you should be smiling and proud of it. I hope the ugliest men in Europe consign Hydra Energetic and all turborecharged, fuel for your skin and energy-boosting crap to the bin. Or poubelle, as they say in France. A consultant in Dublin's Mater Hospital had some planning bother recently, when neighbours on a street adjacent to the hospital objected to the opening of private medical rooms in his house. They expressed concern that their neighbourhood might become a commercial extension of the nearby hospitals, but, I understand, they lost the case. Similar planning battles have been fought over the years in Crumlin where plans to build private consulting rooms in the vicinity of Our Lady's Children's Hospital hit choppy waters. How different things were in bygone times, when the presence of doctors living or working on the street was a source of great comfort and pride. On my desk this week is a wonderful new history of Dublin's Fitzwilliam Square, called Lives Less Ordinary by Andrew Hughes (Liffey Press). In the 19th Century, the Square was more likely to have housed academic doctors or doctors of divinity, but, in the early decades of the 20th Century, it became the Harley Street of Irish medicine, attracting the cream of the profession. By the 1960s, it had 95 practising doctors and only four of the 69 houses were private residential accommodation. Not every healthcare professional was made welcome on Fitzwilliam Square. In 1841, a Dr Thomas Massey took out a sub-lease on Number 4, supposedly because his wife had a particular fancy for living in the residential enclave. Massey was an apothecary and an accoucheur (obstetrician), specialties that were fairly low down the pecking order of 19thCentury medical hierarchy. Within months, he had alarmed his neighbours by converting his front room into a chemist shop, complete with business counter and a glass door. Letters started to flow between Massey and concerned residents, who feared the value of our residences will materially deteriorate by receiving so unwelcome a neighbour as an apothecary. A court order promptly settled the matter against Massey. The original Fitzwilliam Square leases forbade the use of front of house for umpteen businesses, including ale-making, soap-boiling, skinning, butchering, baking, lime-burning, brewing, hat-making, druggist or apothecary. Pharmacists weren't always the eminently respectable profession they lay claim to now. When I began publishing the Irish Medical Directory in 1994, there were perhaps a dozen specialists still plying their trade on Fitzwilliam Square. What's astonishing is that today, aside, I think, from one GP surgery, there is virtually no specialist representation left there. The wizardry of fancy clinics and private hospitals with their scanners, laboratories and opportunities to share insured patients with other doctors and therapists has drawn them all away. The bodies have been buried and only the ghosts remain. If any readers have any medical tales from Fitzwilliam Square, please do drop me a line. L

UGLYSIDEOFADS

times. I am so grateful to her for all her help, Avril says. So, following her hospitalisation earlier this year, Avril was forced to look elsewhere for possible sources of relief and began to see a general Oriental practioner in Waterford called Dheai Insand. He was just fantastic, and in about a week of daily treatment I was already more mobile. Avril continues to see Dheai on a regular basis. She says he uses the tongue both as a guide to possible problems and for her treatment, and explains that he utilises acupuncture needles. She says that slowly but surely she is starting to feel a bit better. Today I'm good but tomorrow I could be back in bed, she explains. So I would really like to contact other people with similar problems so we can share information. Avril will continue to do what she can to lessen the pain and to minimise the impact of her condition on her and her family. However, anyone meeting her on one of her good days would be hard-pressed to believe this vivacious, attractive, lively, warm-hearted and fashionable woman walks a very tough path indeed. L Email avrilhitchens@eircom.net, or see www.mysterypain.ie

DYLAN VAUGHAN

Dr Maurice Gueret is a GP and editor of the Irish Medical Directory Email mgueret@imd.ie

10 July 2011 | Sunday Independent | LIFE | 39