“I recently went to a new doctor and noticed he was located in something called the Professional Building. I felt better right away.”

Forgive me friends. I am about to commit a small sin. A small one mind you. I'm not about to commit a murder, or covet my neighbour's ass, for instance. I believe the original religious text was referring to the animal and not Israelite "booty", and, on this basis, I couldn't do so even if I wanted to, because he doesn't own one, and nowhere does it say "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's bird feeder".

I am, however, about to break a rule that I made in the very first post I wrote. For those who have not been following this since the 28th of June 2010 (that's everyone except my girlfriend, my mum and a man in Texas who believes me to be an incarnation of the Dalai Lama), in those heady early days of writing I stated that I never wanted this blog to become something like a diary, where I invest the dull, mundane details of my life with a greater detail than they deserve and parade them about on the internet in an attempt to find sympathy/ meaning/ a girlfriend. I am, however, going to have to infringe ever so slightly on this principle, as it will set us up nicely for what I hope will be an interesting post. So sit back, relax, have a brew and enjoy.

This afternoon I had an appointment at the hospital. Nothing serious, just following up some tests that I'd had done a few months back. After an hour long wait with nothing but 'Angry Birds' on my iPhone for company, I was called in, told that everything had come up as normal, that they couldn't find anything wrong with my heart or brain (always reassuring) and that they'd pass me on to a specialist.

So what's up with me? Like I say, nothing serious, nor anything embarassing; I'm not about to confess to wierd growths or something similar. The reason for my visit is that I have what have been medically termed "funny episodes" which take place during lectures. Put me in a bright classroom, have me take notes off a whiteboard and ten or fifteen minutes in I start to go a bit wierd. I call it the 'Vista effect' because basically my brain responds like an overloaded computer; it freezes. Everything's still there, but I can't interract with anything, and pressing control, alt, delete won't help; for one thing, I don't come with a keyboard.

For about ten minutes I'm a daft mess; I'll start one sentence and finish it with a completely different one, I'll start writing neatly and finish up in some illegible scrawl that looks like a drunk slug stumbled its way from an inkwell and onto my page. Sometimes I'll even nod off. Then something will catch my attention and three, two, one I'm back in the room. Nothing but a headache and a page of illegible notes to show for it. Wierd stuff.

Looking into it, my condition is fairly tame. There are some seriously wierd and wonderful conditions out there, some of which scientists are only just beginning to come to grips with. Take 'Koro' as an example. Many blokes are (how to put it) "concerned" with their penis size, compensating for it with Ferraris, Alsatians and an unhealthy interest in football, but this particular condition, also known as 'Genital Retraction Syndrome', is an irrational fear held by some that your manhood (or nipples in the case of women) is shrinking to the point that it will disappear altogether. Sounds like something out of a horror film, and it gets worse: patients fear that, should their genitals dissappear altogether, they will drop down dead and they attempt to counteract it by tying weights to the end of their... well... you know. But what's even wierder is that it is almost entirely exclusive to China, and even there can be pinpointed further to Southern China and the lower Yangtze Valley. Why? No-one really knows, but God I feel for them.

Another is 'Alien Hand Syndrome' which is also known as 'Anarchic Hand' (which sounds more like a Heavy Metal Band than a medical problem) and the somewhat more sinister 'Dr Strangelove Syndrome' (imagine having him as your GP). In this disturbing condition, often caused by the surgical seperation of the two hemispheres of your brain as a drastic treatment for severe epilepsy, you not only lose control of one of your hands but the hand then appears to take on a mind of its own. This rogue hand will do things completely of its own accord, attack the sufferer and even attempt to strangle them in their sleep. It will refuse to put on certain items of clothing (seemingly posessed by the spirit of Gok Wan) and one patient reported trying to light a cigarette, only for their alien hand to whip it from their mouth and throw it away. He could only conclude that, "I guess 'he' doesn't want me to smoke that". A health conscious hand. Who'd have thought?

Many affect the body rather than the mind. Ever at the age of thirteen accused someone of smelling "fishy"? Could be the condition 'Trimethylaminuria', where sufferers can't break down a chemical in certain foods, causing their bodily fluids to smell of fish. Ever accused a girl of being overly hairy? You cruel, cruel man; she could have 'Hypertrichosis' or 'Werewolf Syndrome', where the body produces an excessive ammount of hair. Others affect the mind in a way that can have serious and embarassing consequences. 'Sexsomnia', recognised only in 2003, causes the sufferer to engage in sexual activity in their sleep much like sleepwalking, and the recognition of the condition has already helped acquit many defendents accused of assault. 'Jerusalem syndrome' is again area specific, where religious people who have embarked on a pilgrimage to the holy city have a sudden religious fervour that leads them to believe that they are a character from the bible. Many end up dressing in white robes and preaching at famous points around the city and, since its recognition in 1980, there have been on average 100 cases per year. Fascinatingly most do not have a history of mental illness, unless you consider religion a form of madness in itself of course.

These conditions have all been recognised and many can be treated, but there are many who suffer from problems that doctors cannot understand; conditions that appear to have no precedent and that modern science either cannot explain or can do little to help. 24 year old Sarah Carmen is a woman who orgasms constantly. I'm sure to many this sounds like a dream, but the poor girl has reported periods when she has orgasmed over 200 times in a day. Let's just hope she's not as expressive as Meg Ryan in 'When Harry Met Sally'. Ashleigh Morris suffers from an incredibly rare condition known as Aquagenic Urticaria, an allergy to water, and Debbie Bird is allergic to the Electromagnetic field produced by such objects as computers, mobiles and microwaves. She's one lady I can be certain isn't reading this.

Such conditions are undeniably amusing to picture, but it is heartbreaking that normal people suffer on a day to day basis with such problems, many of which doctors have little idea about. Researching for this blog, I came to have a certain respect for such people and for the doctors who try to treat them. Dressed smartly, adorned with a small name badge and a stethoscope dangling from their neck, Joe Public can't help but believe that this man or woman is the fount of all wisdom, little understanding that, in many cases, they are as clueless as we are. My girlfriend's mum was being violently sick recently, went to the doctor's for various blood tests and, when they found nothing, set about doing her own diagnosis. She found that she most likely had a form of parasite only transferred to humans from young calves; young calves she had been feeded at a farm park a few weeks before. The poor doctor could only shrug and admit, "it's not a particularly common problem".

Going back to my appointment today, the doctor said something which was the inspiration for this blog; "We doctors don't have all the answers. We can't always tell you what it is, but at least we can tell you what it isn't". It's a remarkably humble thing for a consultant neurologist to admit, but does it bother me? Not at all. In fact I'm somewhat heartened that we don't know everything and that, if anything, we've hardly scratched the surface of the miraculous, magnificent and often mad world of the human body. Life would be boring if we knew all the answers. And besides, at least I know it's nothing serious.

At least my hand is not attacking me.

“Using words to describe magic is like using a screwdriver to cut roast beef”

Ladies and gentlemen, what a long time it has been since I last wrote to you!

You must be wondering, like the harridan housewife angrily tapping at her watch and shaking her head as her husband returns home from work a full five minutes later than usual, where I have been, what I have been doing and whether it had anything to do with the new secretary at work. And I shall give you a similar excuse to that given by the beleaguered husband; I was busy, couldn't get away, boring stuff, you really wouldn't want to hear about it but I'm sorry, I hope I haven't spoilt tea. Now will you let me back in the house or should I find a Premier Inn for the night (I'm sure Lenny will console me with promises of comfort and affordability)?

I'll assume the former, guiltily slink back into the house and secretly call Miss Smith later to tell her that 'the old bag' doesn't suspect a thing.

So, what's been going on in time I've been absent at this metaphorical office? Well the answer, unsurprisingly for a world of just under seven billion inhabitants (not to mention the countless cows, sheep, dogs, cats, fish, birds, guinea pigs and other fauna), is quite a lot. An entire country managed to go bust as Greece nearly brought the Eurozone to it's knees (and my flight to a standstill as I attempted to leave Crete during an air traffic controller strike). An entire newspaper was closed down as the mounting number of phone hacking incidents finally forced news international to end publication of the 'News of the World'.

Both of these stories are important, ongoing and worrying and I don't feel that lightheartedly poking fun at them is the best way forward right now. Perhaps in a few months time I'll be able to crack a joke or two, but in the mean time I'll make two amusing observations and be done with it; firstly, it made me chuckle that a country whose work day is so relaxed they take a nap for four hours in the afternoon between shifts could go on strike and secondly I think Rebekah Brooks resembles a poodle. Call me juvenile but that kind of thing still tickles me.

"So", you impatiently ask (once again tapping the watch), "What are you going to talk about?" Well there's another major incident that needs addressing, and that is the end of the 'Harry Potter' film series.

To quote that famous American singer-songwriter Mr Bruce Springsteen, "It's been a long time comin'". It was back in 1990, before I was even born, that Mrs Rowling first had the idea to write about a teenage wizard on a train from Manchester to London, and 1997 when 'The Philosopher's Stone' rolled off the printing press and into the imaginations of children around the world. A nuclear bomb could hardly have had a more world-changing impact. Six books later and the world has gone 'Potty' (sorry, couldn't resist the pun there). 400 million books have been sold worldwide in 67 different languages including Ukrainian, Welsh and, my favourite, Ancient Greek (major market there I should imagine). The film series itself, even without the final exciting installment, is the highest grossing series of all time, making a staggering $6 billion worldwide. To call the series a success is an understatement.

Why do we love Harry Potter? Jesus, what a question. Some would point to J.K. Rowling's imagination and writing style. Whilst Tolkien and Lewis will be eternally revered for their mystical worlds and magical stories, Rowling brought magic right up to date with an imagination us mere mortals (or muggles?) can only dream about. Forget Narnia, a world only accessible through a mothballed wardrobe (finding my Mum's wardrobe didn't have the same effect was the cause of much childhood heartache and parental anger as she found me huddling in amongst her neatly folded t-shirts muttering something about dwarves). Forget Middle Earth, a world only replicable on a Warhammer board (not that I know anything about that...). Rowling gave us a magical universe that apparently existed all around us, a world so beautifully intricate, detailed and credible I'm sure that more than one child has been severely injured at King's Cross attempting to get on the Hogwart's Express. Coupled with a writing style that is both simple and elegant, entertaining yet informative, Rowling's books have rekindled a generation's interest in literature. For that alone, 'Harry Potter' should be praised.

Others would be more sceptical, and talk less about literature and more about SFX. Undoubtedly, the 'Harry Potter' films are a huge part of the series' success. All seven of the films so far are in the top thirty highest grossing films ever, and it is clear from the hoards of screaming, smiling and often tearful crowds outside every premier that the films are (sometimes obsessively) loved. Others are not fans of such glamour. Undeniably (although one might suggest unsurprisingly), the 'Harry Potter' series cost a bomb to produce. 'The Half Blood Prince' was the fourth most expensive film to produce ever, costing $250 million, and there are of course those who argue that, beyond a few dazzling effects, there is little substance to the series; the actors, particularly those who began the series as children, have been constantly criticised for poor quality performances, and many would perceive the films' at times significant departure from the original plotlines as an attempt to make the series more audience appealing. I personally think that the films are, by and large, a credit to their literary counterparts. It is seldom the case that a film is entirely faithful to the book it is based on; concessions and adaptations are a natural part of the transfer between genre, and I feel the film series has remained sensitive to the original intent of Rowling's novels whilst making the stories viable films in their own right. Nevertheless, it is difficult now to see the characters in the books as anyone other than Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint and Emma Watson, yet we can only hope that, for those who watched the films first, the books will prove just as magical retrospectively.

But I want now to look away from the films, away from adult cynics and fanatical teenage girls, away from all the hype that surrounds major successes to get to the heart of my original question, "Why do we love 'Harry Potter'?". And for me, as for so many, I look back to my nine or ten-year old self who first read 'The Philosopher's Stone' all those years ago. Huddled under my duvet late into the night with my bedside lamp under the covers for fear of discovery (an act that was, in hindsight, quite dangerous given the fact that I remember having to take periodic gulps of air and stop when I smelled burning polyester) I first plunged into Rowling's exciting world, desperately hoping for a letter delivered by an owl and addressed to 'Mr CJ Leffler, Top Bunkbed, Downstairs Bedroom' before I had to go off to secondary school, doomed to a muggle existence. Sadly, this didn't happen, but my fixation with the books didn't wane. I was by no means as obsessive as some of my friends, but it was impossible not to feel an affinity for young Mr Potter and the magical world he inhabited. And as Harry grew up, as he and the novels he inhabited matured and the plotlines grew darker, more complicated and less cosy, it seemed to somewhat echo the movement towards adulthood I myself was experiencing. When Harry had his first kiss I'm sure millions of teenage girls around the globe were left jealously wishing it could have been them he'd pulled, and many angsty and awkward teenage boys left jealously wondering just how he'd pulled (he had, of course, the advantage of magic). We grew up with Harry, he was like a brother we actually liked, someone to admire. For me, and I'm sure for many others, that is the reason I love 'Harry Potter'. Even now, halfway through a degree, it is oh so easy to be transported back into his magical world, away from the daily stresses of life.

What's not to love?