When I was a schoolboy, a needle to me meant a piece of magnetised steel in a compass. Or a stylus following a groove in a record, enabling Olympic high jumper Johnny Mathis to reach the top notes in songs like ‘Misty’ and ‘On a Clear Day You Can See Forever,’ which rather cancel each other out. Johnny is 83 now, so probably doesn’t jump any more, except at sudden unmelodious noises.
For those who fear needles, a pandemic can be a nightmare of terror and indecision, like taking a driving test after a single driving lesson. Who in his right mind would do that? I passed, though. Even Clark Kent should be reluctant to submit to vaccination, because it might reveal his true identity as the Man of Steel. “That’s another broken needle! What’s going on?”
People who suffer from belonephobia — that’s one more new word we both know now — begin to imagine they see needles everywhere. They read about Captain Ahab planting a harpoon in a white whale, then doing it a second time, and they tell their therapist, “That whale was double-jabbed!” Moby is an albino mocha whale, the chief mate is called Starbuck, and the third mate is Flask — product placement reminiscent of a James Bond film.
Sherlock Holmes “abhors the dull routine of existence” more than he fears injections, and his preferred method is self-administration. In the absence of stimulating cases to solve, he used morphine or cocaine, the latter in a seven-percent solution. Both drugs were legal and easily obtainable in 19th century England. I believe that’s still half true nowadays.
Ignoring her own surname, the Australian serial killer Martha Needle delivered her fatal doses in poisoned food. And you may remember Claus von Bülow, whose American heiress wife often became comatose at Christmas? Just after her insulin injections? Administered by Claus? But apparently Claus was not guilty of attempted murder. And there is a Santa Claus.
And I’m starting to feel a bit afraid of needles myself. I hope I’m not coming down with a bad case of aichmophobia. Who would have thought there were so many names for being a reluctant pincushion?
But no, needles are our comrades in arms. It is what is put into them — and by extension, into us — that matters. If you are a bored consulting detective, to cite just one example, it is probably best to avoid a solution that includes any percentage of cocaine whatsoever.
What makes me apprehensive are people who carelessly refuse vaccination and by doing so, put me and others at risk. I listen to their reasoning but there is something vital missing. Like Bogart without Bacall. Rolls minus Royce. Don Quixote on his own. Or like clowns who tumble out of circus cars dressed as firemen, one of them clutching a bugle. It is difficult to take them seriously, not that I do much of that anyway.
These refuseniks give the rest of us the needle, when they are the ones who really should be getting it.
