Patch-Ups, Parrots and Pies: Why Your Living Room Is Now the NHS’s Latest Ward
Paramedics in your lounge, cervical checks at Greggs and a Health Secretary tossing promises like confetti; welcome to Britain’s brave new era of “community care”, where it relocates to your kitchen.
So only last week, I wrote with all the subtlety of a foghorn in a library, about our genius prime minister (that’s sarcasm, for the benefit of his fan club) deciding the best way to shrink those irritating hospital waiting lines was to shove the queue elsewhere. Brilliant, isn’t it? If your A&E looks like a rugby scrum in fancy pyjamas, simply herd half the crowd down the road to their GP. Sorted. Except it’s not, because trying to get a GP appointment these days is about as easy as teaching a parrot to recite Shakespeare without squawking “Pretty Polly” every third word. I’m on form this morning…
Now, in a dazzling encore of bureaucratic wizardry, our fearless leaders have instructed paramedics to treat people in their living rooms. So next time you’re half-dead, don’t bother the hospital. Lie dramatically on your carpet and wait for a paramedic to patch you up between the cat’s scratching post and last night’s takeaway box. They call this “community care”. I call it “treading water while the ship sinks”.
As a Brit who occasionally masquerades as an American to blend in at Walmart, I find it interesting I can waltz into a supermarket and grab a rotisserie chicken, a washing machine and get a flu jab at the till. I once got my Covid booster while filling up the car with petrol; that’s American multitasking in its purest form. So perhaps our genius prime minister’s next bright idea will be for us to pop into Greggs, grab a sausage roll and have our cervix or prostate politely prodded by the assistant manager. Delicious and efficient.
I do wonder with a mild sense of dread, what glittering nonsense Sir Keir Starmer will dream up when he returns from his diplomatic jolly to Canada this week. Maybe free hip replacements with every Tesco Clubcard? A tooth extraction loyalty scheme at Costa Coffee? Or a ‘bring your own bandage’ policy for anyone daring to break a leg within a mile of an NHS facility.
It’s all terribly entertaining if you happen to be a parrot repeating “We care about the NHS” every five minutes from a taxpayer-funded perch. Because that’s what it boils down to, repeat the promise, squawk a figure, shake a shiny pie chart in front of the cameras, then wait for us to forget when the next crisis appears; probably by Tuesday.
Meanwhile, a few inconvenient truths lurk in the corner, glaring at everyone like a badly behaved parrot at a posh dinner party. People are still being diagnosed with cancer, often far too late. More still are waiting, chewing their nails in overcrowded wards that look like the departure lounge of a budget airline on strike day. The brave paramedics, who already resemble overworked superheroes minus the cape, must now do hospital-grade patch-ups on your nan’s floral sofa, all because there aren’t enough beds or doctors to go around.
Wes Streeting, our Health Secretary, cheerfully promises that £450 million and a couple of shiny new ambulances will fix this mess. Forgive my parrot-like repetition, but I’ve heard this tune before. The chorus always goes: “This time, it’ll work.”, it didn’t last time. Or the time before that…
Yet here’s the uplifting twist, because I do like to end on a note of cautious optimism; or at least dark amusement. It is I suppose, reassuring that the NHS remains firmly lodged in our dear leaders thoughts. As your gran might say, it’s the thought that counts. Sadly, what really counts is the size of the queue, the time you’ll wait and whether you’ll still be upright when your name is finally called.
Until they stop talking about “throwing money” at the NHS and start throwing actual staff, beds and functioning systems at it, this is just a parrot repeating itself to a nation forced to clap politely while secretly Googling private healthcare.
Stay healthy. Stay cheeky. Perhaps invest in a nice comfy rug, because next time you need patching up, your living room might be the new A&E.
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Chris Geiger, Author of The Cancer Survivors Club.
Daily Dose of Disbelief!
Bsky: @chrisgeiger.com
Bsky: @thecancersurvivorsclub.com
Bsky: @dailydoseofdisbelief.com
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