A Safe and Sunny Walk
Blog 10
The death of Dr Michael Mosley is a tragedy, for his wife, his family and for all his fans. There is no doubt that his engaging personality did much to improve the health of many people and he is a great loss to medical journalism.
While his espousal of various aspects of what we might call “healthy living”, from the 5:2 diet to yoga, was laudable, his acceptance of research carried out by protagonists of these life-style choices was, for me, too uncritical. He seems never to have invoked the Null Hypothesis.
People mostly come up with theories based on a set of facts. Then they try to prove their hypotheses. Wrong! Anyone can prove their ideas are apparently correct, because they based them upon certain facts in the first place. To demonstrate that you may be right requires one to try to prove oneself wrong. Each attempt to do so that fails strengthens your concept. That is the essence of the Null Hypothesis.
In addition, a number of these life-style behaviours are promoted to suggest that, by adopting them you will live a longer and healthier life, often citing, for example, the relative longevity of those who consume a Mediterranean diet as evidence. While this maybe indicative, it isn’t evidence. To find evidence would require research studies over decades.
Sadly, Dr Mosley seemed to have adopted the uncritical attitude of a journalist’s acceptance of scientific research.
Finally, he showed a strange lack of judgement on his last day, though perhaps the intense heat was a factor.
Madness to set out on a solitary walk in such heat.
Madness to tackle a tricky, unknown (to him) and potentially dangerous path.
Madness to do so on his own and leave his telephone behind him. Had he taken it, he would have been found within hours.
In contrast, here is my idea of a much more pleasant walk:
Sunny Walk
While the sun is shining brightly,
We decide upon a walk.
Though we pace the grasses lightly,
It is better not to talk.
We’ve set out upon a trackway
Round the shoulder of a hill.
It’s pre-Roman and a back way
To the local watermill.
There are buttercups and speedwell
On the banks along the way.
Flow’ring clover and a harebell,
Scattered sheep amongst the hay.
Standing cattle in a meadow,
Chewing slowly by a stream
Which meanders in an oxbow,
Where its muddy waters gleam.
In the hazy middle distance,
There’s a tractor with a cart.
You can sense the land’s existence
In the kernel of your heart.
Climb a stile and turn a corner
And we wander down the slope.
Distant dove coos like a mourner,
Calling us to give up hope.
Then we walk beside the river
Calm and cool beneath the trees
Where the catkins sway and quiver
In a soft and gentle breeze.
There’s the mill beside the water
Heard the millrace boil and hiss.
So I took my love and caught her
In a long and liquid kiss.
