Like most British children, my school days were peppered with occasional visits from a nurse with mysterious jabs known as “vaccinations”. We queued up outside a special room, then trooped in one by one for a shot in the arm, before being rewarded with some sort of sweet.
I didn’t pay much attention to the contents of the syringe being injected into my arm. Why would I? The school and my parents, the twin stars of authority in my world, decreed it.
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