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“I’m tellin’ you, it’s all a load of cobblers. ‘Put a towel under the door.’ A towel! Like that’s what’s bringing the NHS to its knees,” says Tom (thumping his pint down).
“Aye. As if Doris in number 42 is freezing because she forgot the towel, not because she’s been waiting two years for a knee and can’t get out of the chair,” snorts Carl.
“Exactly! They’re on the radio like it’s a Blue Peter segment. ‘Stay hydrated.’”
I’m hydrated, mate. Been hydrating since lunchtime. Doesn’t get you a GP appointment though, does it?, says Carl
“Nope. You could drink the Channel dry and still be told, ‘Call back tomorrow at eight,’” slurs Tom.
“They tell you, you must drink two litres a day,” laughs Tom
I’m on my third pint, replies Carl.
“Good. You’re now medically self-sufficient,” sniggers Tom.
They also keep saying, “Look out for vulnerable people.”
“Who? There’s no district nurses left to look out for ’em. It’s just us, and we’re knackered,” says Tom.
“And when they say, ‘Seek medical help if symptoms worsen’…I mean, where? A&E? You’ll die of old age before the triage nurse remembers your name.”
“Here’s the thing, they don’t say. The advice assumes the NHS is still a safety net,” says Tom as he leans in.
“But it ain’t. It’s a trampoline with half the springs gone,” stumbles Carl.
“Exactly. Works fine if you’re young, light, and only fall a little bit,” replies Tom.
“But if you’re old, ill, or properly unlucky? Straight through the gaps, mate.”
“They don’t want to admit the real problem,” says Tom while slurping his pint.
“Which is?”
“There’s no slack left. No spare beds. No spare staff. No spare time. Everything’s running hot all the time. So when something big happens—power cut, heatwave, cold snap—it all goes to s@*t.
“And instead of fixing that, they tell you to wear another jumper.”
“You know what really gets me?” Says Tom, while taking a long sip.
“Go on.”
“None of this advice is wrong.”
“It’s just… laughably inadequate like giving a bloke with a heart attack a leaflet on breathing exercises.”
“They know what needs fixing; we know what needs fixing, but we’re not allowed to fix it.”
“So the Health Secretary tries to dead cat you with cruel doctor’s strikes and “Superflu”.
“‘Cos fixing it costs money, time, and the admission of mistake,” replies Carl.
Sitting in silence for a moment. Glasses clink. Someone laughs at the bar.
“Same again?” says Tom
Yeah. Might as well stay hydrated, “ replies Carl.
(They clink pints.)
Two old geezers wrote this post who enjoy staying hydrated.
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