Today we’d like to congratulate the NHS for having survived thirteen years of this Tory Government. Our NHS heroes have nobly crawled along despite being locked in a thirteen-years, Tory induced, death spiral. A plummeting flight towards oblivion not unsimilar to the one that Voldemort had Harry Potter in at climax of the movies. It’s not unusual or unreasonable to think that when you get to the age of seventy-five, you’re pretty much nearing the end of your days. If the Tories get their way, then end of days is pretty much what is going to happen to our NHS.

This week, the Tories have announced that they have plans to get waiting times in A&E down. Unfortunately as they do so, waiting times in ambulances and corridors are through the fucking roof.

This week has also seen endless debate from establishment figures in regard to our health services. All the usual hand wringing, whilst constantly asking, “But where is the money going to come from?” There’s a simple answer to that. You. If we could get just one of you bastards to pay some tax, we could probably fund our NHS for the next fifty years, travel to Pluto, and make Twitter work again. There’s no money feels irritating as a constant ear-flickering, when you happen to hear that while watching a three million quid carriage parading around what we’re told is the king.

In 2008 we used one-hundred-thirty-seven billion pound (yes, with a B) of public money to bail out the banks and allow bosses to continue to give themselves lovey bonuses, despite them having crashed the global economy. We seemed to magic up that money out of nowhere. Yet we can’t find the money for our NHS. In fact, they’re still rinsing us the public for every penny we have so that mega corporations can continue to drive inflation upwards, like a rocket to the Moon, while not paying any tax. We are in financial meltdown and we’re going to continue to blame it on people on the dole and whoever has a foreign accent. It’s a bit like having a massive dog come around the house, it does a massive shit on the carpet, and we go: “Oh I know how we can fix that. Let’s rub the hamsters head in it.”

And it’s not just the state of the NHS that’s in ridiculously bad health, thanks to the decline in our health services, we as a nation are in pretty poor health too. Right now life expectancy in certain areas of Scotland is fifty-seven. Mind you, after having witnessed King Charles been crowned in Scotland, this is probably enough.

Mental health and slashes to psychiatric services have also reached a crisis point. Under the present Government suicide rates have soared. Steve Barclay, our Secretary of State for Health and Social Care (yeah, we’ve never heard of him either,) last week issued a statement saying “It’s good to see so many people mucking in with the austerity measures. All these self-volunteered deaths should really free up some much-needed bed spaces.”

This week a ‘Government Think Tank’ (Now there’s an oxymoron) conducted an investigation into what was going wrong with our NHS and came to the conclusion that, “The NHS had endured a decade of underinvestment at the hands of our own Government.” Not to blow my own trumpet, but I could have told them that without an investigation. A bit like going, “People say we act like we don’t care. It’s not an act.”

Watching working class people continue to vote for this shower is a bit like watching chicken sitting down to eat with foxes.
Let’s try and spell out exactly what is happening in the UK under our current leadership:
THE. WORST. FALL. IN. LIVING. STANDARDS. SINCE. RECORDS. BEGAN. FACT!!!
Will that get through to the plebs? Probably not. Get back to watching Love Island, the only way you can see a warm place, since our wages weirdly don’t seem to match the need to stay warm. Nor eat. It’s probably those trade union’s fault, or most likely that awful Mick Lynch terrorist man.

We are the worst of hypocrites when it comes to our beloved NHS and its staff. We applaud them during the horrors of a pandemic. Then we vote in the people who absolutely want to get rid of them at the nearest opportunity. Next time you’re having a stroke or a heart attack, start clapping like a trained seal. See how far a round of applause gets you.