[Comment] Offline: From Bedford Square to London Wall
4 pm on a Tuesday. Press day. The issue is finally passed. Pencils no longer raised. Telephones silent. Scissors and glue put to one side. The last courier long gone. Out comes a bottle of sherry and we each pour a glass. Tomorrow, the cycle begins again. That was in 1990. The Lancet has been home, friend, escape, and inspiration for 25 years. I began reading the journal as a fourth-year medical student. I didn’t understand much (truthfully, most) of it. But the journal seemed to stand for something compelling and important.