The Pharmaceutical Journal
Vol 269 No 7229 p929-930
21/28 December 2002

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The log of the good ship Pharmasea

Sunday 21 September 11.00

St Anthony's head abeam. The hero surveys the adventurers. Two quality controllers, one technical services principal pharmacist and three district pharmaceutical officers, brought together by fate, an unquenchable thirst for adventure and a certain weakness of mind. The sea is a deep blue and is awash with weekend sailors. Curiously there is not a sail in sight. Is this a quaint Cornish custom? "No" the skipper replies, "no bleedin' wind!" Undaunted they crank up the engine, set the auto-pilot and press on. The skipper regrets that the Pharmaceutical Society's Council and Falmouth town band have not turned out to see them off and he resolves to post some invitations next time.

The hero muses and, remembering the sarcastic comments of his colleagues about autumnal gales, sighs and starts to write his paper on "Heavy weather sailing — the clinical pharmacist's contribution".

Sunday 21 September 17.00

Still no wind. The skipper, in deference to being a real sailor, has ordered the sails to be hoisted. They hang limp as a politician's handshake and are generally agreed to be as useful as a carpet-layer's ladder.

Tea arrives accompanied by homemade fruit cake prepared by the wife of one member of the crew. Female members of the crew groan in disbelief but order a Sainsbury's label attached. For the sake of unity a packet of (bought) Mars Bars are passed around.

The hero muses, forgets heavy weather sailing and starts to write "Nautical cookery — the pharmacist's historical role", a syndo-radicalist, ethno-feminist discussion paper.

Sunday 21 September 19.00

Still no wind and the diesel drones on. The crew have now had time to explore the vessel they have chartered. The multifunctional, electrical, satellite assisted navigation system has been set, sea watches have been allocated and berths claimed. The master bedroom, bedecked in teak and crimson velvet, has been universally acclaimed as akin to a Turkish bordello. Two of the crew qualify this opinion with the assertion that they gathered this impression from Humphrey Bogart movies. Spaghetti bolognese has been prepared and consumed with great gusto.

The hero muses and pens his thoughts on the formation of a Hospital Pharmacists' Group — Italian food section.

Monday 22 September 01.00

Wind has risen to a modest puff and the sails flap a bit — but the diesel drones on. The sea is flat calm and the moon is full and brilliant but the skipper is concerned that, according to the "electro-gismos", the boat is heading in the wrong direction. The crew discuss the viability of making it in time for the next pan-Pacific conference. Confusion is compounded when a star sight on Arcturus gives the boat's position as 3.5 miles north of Archangel. The crew discuss the exchange rate for roubles. Calm is restored when a plotting error is discovered and the Arcturus is found to be the late evening flight from Gatwick to Jersey.

The hero muses and continues his International Pharmaceutical Federation paper on "Hospital pharmacy and the theory of uncertainty".

Monday 22 September 07.00

St Helier harbour is entered at 12 knots with all sails set and the spinnaker flying. The Guild of Hospital Pharmacist's battle flag streams from the cross-trees and the crew line the deck lustily singing "Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of on-call" (well that's the version the management side are getting). During the actual arrival the skipper expresses grave concern and utters several nautical oaths when a block of flats appears to move towards our boat at a not inconsiderable speed. Calm is restored on this occasion when the rest of the cross channel ferry hoves into view, manoeuvres expertly and sets off towards Weymouth.

Having moored without further incident breakfast is served, complete with a pot of homemade marmalade. Gender wars threaten to break out again until it is realised that the closure used on the pot was not airtight and that the labelling failed to comply with the Medicines Act regulations in at least 16 particulars. Friendly relations are further reinforced by a cup of (bought) instant coffee.

The hero muses and wrestles with the syntax of a Franglais customs and excise form.

Monday 22 September 14.00

Weather conditions in the marina remain. The crew en famille are listening to the conference science lecture. Appreciation of the content is limited by having spent the night sailing and the morning playing "cherchez le conference".

The hero muses and resolves to invite Van der Waal and the Electrets to play at next year's conference ball.

Monday 22 September 20.00

In celebration of a safe arrival the skipper and crew decide to eat out. Arriving ashore they are confronted by a hostelry with a large red neon sign inviting them to "Ask for Mary Ann". The male members of the crew vote for an immediate and wide-ranging enquiry and proceed thence. Their aspirations, initially heightened by the news that the aforementioned "Mary Ann" is a mere 65p, are subsequently scuppered when they are offered only a pint of beer.

The hero muses and writes a guild council discussion paper entitled "Why do hospital pharmacists never get what they ask for?"

Tuesday 23 September

The conference discussion on original pack dispensing has been under way for some time. The skipper and crew are alarmed by the statement by a member of the Society's Council that he has no problems since he has been dispensing from the same original pack for the past 50 years.

Lunch intervenes and the skipper and crew visit the exhibition. The relatively new pharmaceutical specialty of computer crashing is demonstrated with flair by both skipper and crew. Raiding parties are organised and the booty includes four varieties of indigestion remedies, three headache cures, two cough linctuses and a large packet of worming tablets.

Back at the marina the skipper is worried because the boat has developed a slight list to starboard and he orders a full inspection of all pipes and drains. On being asked "where on earth is the sea-cock?", he is heard to reply "all around the island, mate".

The hero muses and writes a list on the other side of the boat and the skipper calms down.

Wednesday 24 September

Conference begins with a presentation on "Law, ethics and supervision". The first paper is ably delivered by the Society's treasurer, Colin Hitchings, while subsequent speakers refer extensively to the works of Chris Hutchings and Charlie Hoskins. The session ends with the organisers asking delegates not to park their cars on the cross hatchings.

Further raiding parties to the exhibition result in carnations being attached to every exposed piece of clothing and 19 unsuccessful attempts to open a treasure chest. A demonstration on tablet identification reveals that given a magic gadget and two ring binders full of A4 paper, at least one pharmaceutical company can identify its own products.

The skipper and crew have been asked to take part in a field study of an intra-buccal delivery system for the administration of sparkling alcoholic beverages. In the interests of science and the pursuit of knowledge they agree and the latter part of the afternoon is spent preparing for the party— sorry — field study.

The evening commences with the processing of the GHP battle banner through the streets of St Helier to the guild reception. Suggestions that the carrying of the flag by one lady in oilskins accompanied by four men in dinner jackets is an act of pretentiousness are dismissed by the skipper who comments "Sacre Bleu! Mais non! En Cornwall nous le faisons tout le temps".

Field trials aboard commence immediately after the GHP reception. An unaccountably large number of hospital pharmacists have volunteered to participate in the study. Libations are drunk to the gods of earth, wind, fire, sea, shore, bits near the shore, further inland, even further inland, etc. Members of the organising committee of the BPC 1997 are overheard discussing the possibility of chartering a whole fleet of yachts to sail up the Manchester Ship Canal. The meeting resolves to appoint a staff pharmacist (ad hoc ongoing projects) to compare and contrast St Helier Marina with Salford Docks (West).

The list has now definitely changed to a Liszt and his friend Brahms is in evidence also.

The field study appears to be complicated by a number of uncontrolled intervening variables, among which are:

• Precisely who is responsible for recording the results?

• What effect will the urological sequelae of the study have on the marine ecology of the Channel Islands?

• Who has the film of the party and how much does he want for the negatives?

• Where do the bubbles go after they have gone up your nose?

The hero muses and starts the definitive treatise on the meaning of ... meaning of ... meaning of life.

Thursday 25 September

The conference session on drug abuse seems to revolve around the proposition that adolescent deviance is the result of modelling on adult behaviour. A thousand heads nod, two in agreement and 998 in alcoholic somnolence.

The Minister of State at the Home Office is as smooth as brown ale. He manages to spend 45 minutes telling his audience little more than the fact that he too is against sin and gains considerable credit for so doing. The skipper and crew agree that he is a man to watch for the future.

Back at the marina the local customs have taken an uncomfortable interest in our list and the skipper reckons we are a dead cert for a rummage by the customs men back in Falmouth. Half the crew say "oh" in annoyance and the other half "aah" in anticipation. The skipper explains what a rummage is and the latter group change their mind.

The evening choice is either sleep or a soiree Franglais. On the grounds that the nearest they feel to Franglais is fragile the majority go for a quick pizza and retire early.

The hero muses and writes his CV for next year's Council election. Yes, he too is against sin.

Friday 27 September

The list is found to be due to a particular feature in the construction of the marina wall so both skipper and crew are happy to set sail for Falmouth. The customs seemed singularly unimpressed by the explanation offered and expectations of an eventful landfall are high.

The hero muses and prepares "1,001 excuses for every occasion — a plain man's guide to managing a drugs budget".

Saturday 28 September

After an uneventful crossing skipper and crew arrive back in Blighty. They are preceded into port by a yacht which has returned from the Mediterranean. The crew appear to have spent the last 200 miles consuming their excess bond of spirit and are better lubricated than the inside of an oil can. The rummage crews move into ruthless efficiency, performing an almost total interiorectomy on the vessel of the hapless voyagers. Our skipper and crew celebrate their deliverance from a similar fate by consuming their relatively modest excess of sparkling alcoholic beverage. Disaster almost intervenes when a flying cork strikes a passing customs boat but a combination of undeserved luck and angelic expressions of innocence conspire in their salvation.

The afternoon is spent exploring the delightful Helford river and the skipper and crew hold a farewell dinner at the Shipwright's arms at Gweek — certainly one of the best pub-restaurants in England.

The hero muses and pens a note to the skipper and crew — "Thanks".
— Contributed by John Pickup.