Professor Katrijn needs to have a rantlet today. Nothing full blown*, just a mini-rant, a little rantette if you will. The object of my ire isn’t really worth my time, but time is currently in plentiful supply Chez Bunnington Post so I am indulging myself. So: from the comfort of my shady perch in the garden, here goes.
British PM Boris Johnson, not known for his undying loyalty to nationalised anything, especially and in particular healthcare, which his spiffing chums could make billions off if parcelled off nicely; that Boris Johnson has ended up in intensive care with a virus he initially really, really wanted to ignore as a serious threat to us all. Being treated by the NHS – meaning at the taxpayers’ expense – the very same service he and his Tory cronies have gone out of their way to dismantle over the last 10+ years.
Oh, the irony.
You’ve gotta feel for him though. If he’d gone private, he’d have committed political suicide. Now he’ll have to up his game at paying lip service and roll out his famous, ‘Look, that was then but the present situation dictates that [insert evasive answer of choice here]’ when asked whether he has changed his views on the NHS after his close encounter with its inner workings.
Don’t expect this man to change one iota through personal experience. It’s just not in his genes.
How do I know this, besides throwing my professional weight as a Bunstructive-Developmental Psychiatrist specialising in treating the politically preposterous and democratically deluded behind it? Two words.
Begetter of Boris Alexander De Pfeffel Johnson in June 1964. Or, if you wanted to be pedantic about it, and we do; September 1963.
Stanley Johnson, who has such a nice line in insulting the British public he frequently makes Prince Philip jealous.
But why stop there? If you can undermine your Prime Minister by being an obstinate old git with free rein because of your begetter status, why forego such a wonderful opportunity? Especially if it concerns that British institution, that pillar of society, the pint down the pub…
Behold the former MEP, age 79, getting his groove on about COVID-19:
Fast forward to today, and Stanley Johnson comes out with this nugget of wisdom:
Rest up kid, because you nearly took one for the team.
Pardon my dandelions, Stanley?! Rest up? From a virus that was such nonsense that it wasn’t going to stop you from propping up the bar at your local a mere three weeks ago? A virus that at that point had already killed tens of thousands of people across Asia and Europe but still, it was all exaggerated because you know, forriners and their hypochondriac tendencies … But now that Boris nearly joined the statistics of 8,000+ UK deaths it’s somehow real?
And since when did “taking one for the team” feature in your vocabulary? I am hereby diagnosing you with Grandiose Messiah Complex-by-Proxy Disorder for suggesting that Boris succumbing to this virus was going to make one iota of a difference to conquering it. What in the name of protein dynamics is your point?!
Now, take it from your Psychiatrist that what will truly help is this:
- Shut your face.
- Shut it.
- Be quiet.
- Fund the NHS.
- Fund the NHS.
- Fund the fucking NHS and elevate every single person working there, all 500,000 of them, from the cleaners to the rockstar surgeons to sainthood and reward them accordingly.
- Stay at home for all of our sakes while you’re busy shutting it.
Why nothing will change
Stanley Johnson is that sad type who will only believe something is real until it has actually happened to them. Quite how he has managed to stay alive for the best part of eight decades is beyond me. Must have a hell of a lot of karma stored up from previous lives.
And that, dear people, is where our esteemed leader comes from. Public memory is short, and politicians bounce back. Boris will thankfully regain his health, but mark my words, after some advanced lip service of the kind he has down to a T he’s going to carry on as before. After all, ’twas but merely a scratch.
*So I lied about keeping it short. Live with it