Before I moved to London, I thought I spoke English. But now that I live here, I realise that what I speak is American English. The two languages are so similar that it is easy to overlook the differences. It’s the same relationship between Occupational Therapy in the UK and Occupational Therapy in the US: they are so similar that it is easy to overlook the differences. Many of the differences are not discoverable until you get into the nitty gritty details. But one difference was almost immediately noticeable. Three years ago, I took a post at the Royal Hospital for Neuro-disability and the very first thing I had to do before starting employment, even before my first day, was to pick up my uniform. That’s right, my uniform. You can identify most occupational therapists and their assistants in any London hospital by what they are wearing. Witness the duo at the top of the page modelling the Royal Bolton version... I love how that no two London train platforms are the same height but just about every hospital occupational therapist in London is wearing the same uniform. It probably makes no sense to anyone that this sentence sums up my impression of London as much as any sentence can. I am not even sure I understand it.
My reaction against the uniform was immediate and visceral. It isn't that my hospital has turned over every stone to find the poorest quality material available. It isn’t that the waist seems to be designed with a beer belly in mind. I guess I am just jealous that I don't have a beer belly given my enthusiasm for stouts, porters, and ales. It isn’t the lack of a long sleeve option. Most of you probably know that I never wear short sleeves in temperatures less than 25C (80F). It isn’t even the ‘bottle green’. I don't know where this colour came from, but I wish it would go back. It does not belong on a bottle, and it certainly does not belong on trousers. (The idea of this colour is on par with the idea of writing about fingernail recycling... Who would DO such a thing!) It wasn’t any of those things causing my reaction. It was this idea that the uniform was somehow antithetical to everything I thought about the therapeutic relationship. But as I try to articulate this feeling into actual sentences for this blog, I am coming up short. Sure, the uniform causes needless separation between my clients and me, but does it really undermine my humanity so much that I cannot establish a therapeutic relationship based on our common humanity? Certainly not! I think I hate the uniform because it makes a sort of hierarchical distinction that just isn't necessary. But that is likely my own cultural bias. I wonder if most native Londoners see it that way. I happen to see many things in London as needlessly hierarchical. But that will have to wait for a future rant.
The uniform has some positives, however. The biggest one for me was that it signalled my arrival into occupational therapy in London. I had finally figured out how to get hired into the field. It took a while to figure out where to look and how to present myself. The differences are subtle but enough to prevent you getting the interview or the job. That is why I am smiling in the picture: I am finally ‘in’. I also love the idea of not having to buy clothes for work and wearing out the hospital’s clothes instead of my own. And since the hospital launders them for free, it is a sweet deal.
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So I was trimming my finger and toe nails the other day and I was thinking to myself: wow, do these things grow fast. I mean, if I don't trim them every week I actually risk impaling myself by the middle of the second week because they are so long. And as I was dumping them into the rubbish, I was thinking to myself: With 6.9 billion people worldwide, it seems that we would pretty much have a nearly endless supply if we could just figure out something to make out of them.
I know what your thinking: It took me all the way to the third idea before I went Ewwww. OK, but in my defense, a 
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