Stop with your ceaseless innovation!

I have lived without internet for over a week. This happened to coincide with the force of gravity making itself known upon my phone, smashing it to buggery, which meant I couldn’t even use mobile data. The romantic in me thought that being disconnected from the Internet would allow me to reconnect with the real world, to human beings. However, the romantic in me is a dick. It’s the reason it’s surrounded by an angry cynic. Alas, I had no life-changing epiphany. It didn’t make me appreciate the joy of reading or the wonder of making conversation. I certainly didn’t feel liberated from the oppressive glare of a screen.

In fact, the opposite occurred if anything. Cut off from technology (internet and phoneless) I was unable to communicate with anyone, save for going directly to their house or writing a letter and I wasn’t about to expend the effort of setting pen to paper, cover the expense of a stamp and then post a letter to say, ‘imagine if your head fell off, that’d be funny wouldn’t it?’

Now armed with a new phone and having paid my mum’s internet bill (yes, I currently have to live with my mum, what of it?), I am free to send people all the inane bollox I want.

Speaking of inane bollox, here is a blog. It’s not a very well thought out blog, I tried that with my Trump and knives blog, but that didn’t get nearly enough views to warrant the time and effort spent on it… well, time anyway.

In getting a new phone I had to decide what new phone I wanted. We like to think we enjoy the notion of choice, but in many ways, it just creates more problems. The question ‘what should I have for dinner?’ would be easy if the only option was some sort of tasteless gruel. As it is, we can select from thousands of ingredients to create dishes inspired by all nations. It’s almost impossible to make a decision. Even if you try and keep it simple and go with soup, the possibilities are seemingly endless. Tomato and basil soup, cream of tomato soup, gazpacho, there’s three right there and that’s just the tomato- based ones.

With phones, the choice is even harder, owing to the fact that there are approximately fifteen billion models, all of which consist of a small rectangle that lights up.

Sales assistant: What sort of thing are you looking for in a phone sir?

Me: One that makes phone calls really.

Sales assistant: Oh, very good, very funny. What model have you currently got?

Me: A small rectangular one that lights up.

Sales assistant: Well, that’s quite an outdated one if you don’t mind me saying so. There are numerous small rectangles that light up that are far superior. Why don’t you try this small rectangle?

Me: Does it light up?

Sales assistant: you can even choose the noise it makes when it lights up.

There’s a scene from a play I started to write based on my experience, it doesn’t really go anywhere, but neither has any play I’ve gone to see. Point is, phones have got about as good as they’re going to get, there’s nothing else they can conceivably add. I would say a toaster, but then, that would make it a toaster with an inbuilt phone rather than a phone with an inbuilt toaster… unless it made really small pieces of toast, which would beg the question: why bother?


A small rectangle showing it’s remarkable ability to light up

Many things have reached the point where any attempts at innovation are likely to have a detrimental effect. I’m not against innovation as someone once chided me for. In fact, I’m all for it, just only in certain areas.

Coke. Coca-cola does not need to innovate; they make coke. They perfected coke when they put it in a can. Canned Coke is the best Coke and anyone who says otherwise is a fucking inbred cretin. They now have the market, there’s simply no need to make anything else. Everyone will always drink coke, unless the place in question only has Pepsi, in which case they’ll have that. Coke makes approximately a shit ton of money from Coke. Anything they’ve done to Coke since canned Coke has been to its detriment. Cherry Coke, Vanilla Coke, Coke with lime. I’ve accepted all those things despite their inferiority; they’d gone mad with success and were trying to hold onto it. Then recently, I saw someone guzzling noisily from a can of Coke with mango.

How the hell did they think that would work? Just because you like two things doesn’t mean that smashing them together is going to work out.


The very best way to have coke shown alongside the very worst way to serve coke.

Then there are toothbrushes. They became about as good as they’re going to get when they put bristles on the end of a stick. There’s a number of adverts stating that the only way to brush our teeth is to have a round head that can rotate six-hundred times a minute, which a few years ago would have been considered a medical disadvantage.

(Pause for laughs)

I am well aware that my caveman ancestor probably had similar feelings with the invention of the wheel. No doubt he said “oh, too good for legs are we? What’s wrong with feet, transport has got about as good as it’s ever going to get.” Before he was hailed as a genius for the invention of the English language.


He was a handsome devil though.

Anyway, conclusion is. Only innovate where absolutely necessary. Once we have flying cars that can fly themselves, then we can stop altogether.


You shouldn’t worry about what others think

It only affects every aspect of your life.

Often, we are told not to spend so much time worrying what others think about us. It only matters what you (the person in question) thinks. Unfortunately, this is yet another thing that doesn’t hold up to much scrutiny. You should definitely worry what others think of you. What others think will decide how you progress in your chosen career (or more likely the career that you tripped and fell face first into and now have to live with forever). What others think of you will determine your relationships and subsequently your family life. Every aspect of your future is reliant on the whims and thoughts of others.

Which brings me onto my point.

We spend our entire lives forced to prove ourselves. First, it’s fairly easy, we must learn to control our bladders. Strangely, we’re the only creature on the planet that does this except for maybe the domesticated dog, but that’s only because we’ve forced it on them. Around the same time, it’s walking and talking.

Then comes school. This is the first of an endless string of proving grounds. You must prove your academic prowess…

*Side note* for those that are interested, the following paragraph is very much a message in one of the amazing short stories written by the great Watergipridget.

You must constantly prove your ability to read words and then to write words. Then you must prove you can grasp the arbitrary rules that surround the notion of words. Let’s be frank. Grammar is shit. For any self-confessed Grammar Nazis out there: not only are you a twat, but the very thing you hold dear was laid down by old dead men and subject to the whims of humanity. The rules of grammar are dictated by use. If we all decided the semi-colon belonged after an ‘n’, then by god this blog would look preposterous.

As you strive to prove you’ve obtained the basics of pedantry, you must simultaneously prove you’ve grasped the deliberately confusing world of numbers and their relationships. “A stall at the fair is selling punnets of strawberries containing 15 strawberries for £2.40 each. How much is each individual strawberry?” – What kind of fair is this? If they’re being sold by the punnet, what’s the point in knowing how much each individual strawberry is? No one’s going to try and by three strawberries.

You must prove yourselves in high pressured exams where you are awarded with letters that follow you around for the rest of your days.

But it doesn’t stop there. If your letters are good you can’t relax after losing your childhood to school. Then it’s the real world’s turn to run you through the ringer and then take a steaming hot turd on your chest. You must constantly prove that you are worthy of those letters against other people with similar or better letters.

You must prove yourself through job applications and then prove yourself in an interview. You must sit opposite strangers as they evaluate your life choices, your looks and your personality. What they think about those will determine whether you’re allowed the job. If you can prove you are better than others, then you can finally become a valued member of society and start earning money.

But it doesn’t stop there.

You can’t relax and think, ‘finally, I can let go of this anxiety and start enjoying life.’ No, then you must constantly prove that it was not a mistake that the powers that be employed you. You have to prove that you deserve to be paid over the thousands of other humans and fairly intelligent lemurs that can do your job. You must work hard. Put the effort in. Put the hours in. You must succeed. It’s not enough to just turn up, which in itself is a challenge.

At this particularly gruelling stage, the fatigue starts to kick in. Your muscles burn (figuratively if it’s an office job, literally if your job is laborious) and your soul starts to weep (always figuratively, otherwise I recommend seeing a doctor). It’s here you start to realise the futility of it all. The criteria on which you are judged becomes arbitrary or downright insane.

Then there’s that weird quirk of humanity. Often, we dwell upon and remember the negative events of our pasts and lightly skim the positive. In the world of work this is turned up to the n;th degree, by which I mean to the point of absurdity. One day you could leap out the window and fall several stories in order to provide a soft landing for a baby dropped from a slightly higher floor. You’ll receive barely more than a nod of approval before receiving an email stating that the time spent saving babies will be taken out of your lunch break. A few weeks later you might fall foul of simple human error and you’re pulled into a disciplinary. ‘but I saved a baby?’ you will cry. ‘We can all save babies!’ they’ll respond.

You’ll start to question why you bother. There’s no benefit to this endless proving. You’ll be unable to explain why the people ahead of are ahead of you. They’re no less deserving than you, but nor are they calculably less competent. You’ll become despondent and even be tempted to slack. But you can’t. The minute you slow down you’ll be overtaken by those behind you.

At the end of these endless trials, when we have eventually ‘proven’ ourselves (with varying degrees of success) as much as we can, we are rewarded with death. It’s at this point you stop wondering if it’s worth all the fuss and realise that it definitely isn’t.

I’m a simple man. I’d quite like to spend my life sitting on a chair in contemplative silence (and the occasional scream of existential despair), every so often, I’d like to look out a window and maybe see a pigeon, though I could happily live without. I am denied that life as that would be too simple. No, I have to go out and ‘try my best’ as the television shows I watched as a child would tell me. You can do no more than your best. We’re all just trying our best and sometimes, our best just ain’t good enough.

I often wonder if I could be one of those people who reject modern life. Who gives up all material things and lives a life of quiet meditation. Then I realise that that’s impossible and the only people that truly manage it are eccentric rich men and odd monks who live in remote locations anyway, so they may as well reject the material because the nearest Apple shop is an expensive flight away.

We humans struggled with evolution. Really, we’re stuck in the tribal phase where ‘survival of the fittest’ meant just that. Those intent on proving themselves would charge around waving spears and bringing death and destruction to those that couldn’t prove anything. I’d have let them get on with it. I’d say ‘no more of this madness’ and sit down and look out a window. Those that could prove themselves did, and those that couldn’t died.

On the surface, we’re civilised now. Those that can’t don’t die. Instead, we linger on.

We keep going,

Hoping for the best

Think not too deeply on these words

I say them just in jest

Don’t let them tell you, you ain’t worth spit

because you failed their test,

After all, we’re all the same

Just some are better dressed.

Note: I have no internet, so had to tether to my phone. To save precious data I didn’t go looking for funny pictures.

Trump is right again.

Britain needs guns

Recently, President Trump (the healthiest ever president that ever did live) compared London hospitals to a war zone. He was, of course, referring to the rampant knife crime that goes unchecked throughout the city. Once again, he has been rather astute and hasn’t been cowed into avoiding telling the truth like most politicians are.

Living in a London overspill town, I spend a lot of time in England’s capital city or the front lines as it were. Stepping off the train, the true extent of knife crime is instantly evident. Bodies lay strewn along the platform with medics risking their lives in a vain attempt to save those of young men cut to ribbons.

Words of wisdom

True to President Trump’s (the healthiest ever president) words, the hospitals are awash with blood. One prominent doctor even compared it to that one scene from The Shining. The unchallenged thugs that prowl London’s streets fear not the law or any sort of recompense. Just look at the arrogance of the typical Londoner, proudly brandishing their blade of choice.



I feel threatened just typing this


Government figures show that knife crime has got so bad that even the charts used to illustrate them look quite scary.

graph 1

As you can see, the number of deaths due to knife crime has inclined steadily over the years, before levelling out in the early naughties for some unknown reason, before rocketing off the chart (literally). There’s no telling how high the number is because there is yet to be a sheet of paper large enough to record it.

UK Government failing us yet again

Alas, the government does nothing. This is partially due to the fact that Britain’s elected MPs are currently stuck inside the Houses of Parliament because there’s a shady looking ethnic fellow standing outside, and he almost certainly has a knife.

It’s simply not a case of isolated gang violence stemming from various economic and social issues. The native Londoner has become a bloodthirsty beast who thinks they can do what they wish. Slashing up innocent civilians left, right and centre, and even slightly left of centre.



Yet another couple of knife-crazed millennials celebrating their latest kill with a balanced meal.


The solution

It’s becoming increasingly obvious that the only solution to this terrible state of affairs comes in the form of a gun. Why we Brits fear the gun is a mystery that baffles all intelligent men. Thanks to the gun, Britain forged the greatest empire the world had ever seen. The gun helped us keep our green and pleasant land’s most vicious predator (the fox) in check. Now the gun can liberate us from the tyranny of the knife.

If we stopped listening to all these cowardly liberals and embraced the return of the gun, knife crime would all but disappear. All this violence would end if these knife-wielding maniacs knew they had a righteous man with a gun to fear. The bloodshed will cease if everyone who looks like they might be carrying a knife was shot.

The hard truth

The incredibly healthy Donald Trump isn’t afraid to state the hard facts. Facts that may offend all you many snowflakes. Of course it’s true that had everyone present at the Bataclan had a gun and immediately started opening fire upon sighting a terrorist, the death toll would have probably been in minus numbers.  It’s as true as had President Kennedy (a less healthy president than the immensely healthy Donald Trump) been waving a gun when sat in that car, he’d not have been assassinated.

‘But what if the criminals get guns?’ you disgusting, whiny liberals cry. Well, they’re not going to use them if they know that everyone else has a gun. It’s mutually assured destruction. If every man, woman and child has a gun, they’ll outnumber the criminals tenfold.

Compare the stats

Just take a look at the official statistics coming from America, where everyone’s allowed a gun and even teachers are being urged to arm themselves lest a crazed maniac with a gun comes in.

graph 3

You’ll notice that the number of deaths has always been low (under a thousand). As the number of guns increases, the number of knife related deaths decrease, until we get to 2018, where nobody has yet died at all. This is no doubt partially influenced by citizens following the healthy example of their elected leader.

Now let’s look at the UK and American statistics side by side (or underneath). graph 2

As you can see, the graphs are completely different. One’s a bar chart, the other is a line chart. We can all agree that when information is displayed via lines, it’s a lot more of a pressing issue than the nice, friendly bars.

Now compare this to the number of knife related deaths that occur in rural locations where it’s known that the farmer down the road owns a shotgun. The number is so low, that there’s no point in showing it in chart form.

There has only been one recorded knife related death and that was because he was cutting an onion and slipped, severing an artery. Plus, he had past convictions of knife-related crime anyway, so good riddance to the bastard.

The facts are clear. Guns will solve London’s knife crime and make our country great again. Donald Trump didn’t get as healthy as he is today by not embracing guns.



A brave young boy standing up for the little person. (metaphorically, not dwarves. Though he’d stand up for them too)


Rose tinted spectacles

rose tint

I was going to complain about how hot it is today, but I realised I have already posted about how much I don’t like the heat. In fact, I think I’ve done that at least twice. I worry I often come across as a grumpy old man, and this fear was reinforced by the fact that I just had to yell out my mum’s window to tell off some damn kids that were buzzing the flats and running away. Other people’s kids; I hate ‘em. Especially when they’re allowed to run riot, unchecked and undisciplined. I played knock down ginger once when I was a kid. The neighbour chased me, yelled at me for half an hour and then told my mum, who proceeded to wallop me and yell at me for a further hour. If I had my way no one under the age of 18 would be allowed outside and, even then, they’d have to pass a test first.

I went to see two houses today in the hope of solving my homelessness problem (which is not as bad as the homelessness problem. In fact if I were to complain about it I’d have to burn my privledged arse with an iron. One was only a house by a technicality. There were stairs, which led to a bed sized platform with enough space for a bed. From there, you could peer down to the living area, which is something I never realised I wanted to do until then. The second was a two-bed house, I saw it with a human being I can tolerate… just.

For context, I have recently returned to my hometown as my former flatmate decided she’d rather live with the man she loved and her daughter instead of me in a bit to live a happy and fulfilled life. The selfishness of people these days astounds me. Anyway, I couldn’t afford the flat on my own so asked my dad if I could live with him for a while. He laughed and hung up.

My mother was more charitable, but apparently, even her patience has limits and I have been given a deadline to find a place… I don’t really know what happens after that. Maybe she and my ten-year-old sister will bludgeon me to death with a frying pan. A fate I’d welcome in this heat.

Anyway, back in my hometown… seeing houses… I walked through a wood that I hadn’t walked through in some time. I got a powerful hit of nostalgia. It’s a painfully heavy thing nostalgia that pulls on your very soul. The phrase rose tinted glasses is often associated with viewing the past or reminiscing on one’s childhood. I tend to view the past in shit tinted glasses. Not because my past was bad, on the contrary, it was very good.  Just, the feeling that can only be described as ‘nostalgic’ twists my innards. Nostalgia is a dangerous thing for many, people often get lost there. My dad once started an anecdote concerning the 80s, we lost him about half way through a Genesis concert. We haven’t seen him since.

I don’t like nostalgia. It makes me feel very uncomfortable, much like thinking about the future. I tend to live in the moment. Not out of some cool life affirming way, but out of belligerence the past makes me feel uncomfortable and the future terrifies me. I refuse to be anywhere but the moment and have to be dragged into the future kicking and screaming.

The problem with that is, moments are fleeting. Future moments are transformed into the present with the previous moment being hurled into the junk pile of the past. The older you get the taller this pile rises until it’s a veritable mountain and casts an oppressive shadow over you. All these moments have now gone, never to be lived again. The future pile is growing smaller and smaller and most of the moments there seem to be best avoided and filled with death and the realisation that I will never fulfil my dreams of being a legitimately published author, or musician… or just rich. Forget the books, the music or the success, just give me money.

What was I saying?

Ah yes. The houses were quite nice, I’ll probably go with one.

You Next Day Delivering Arse

After finishing a hard day of staring at a screen and wondering what to write, I find myself sitting staring at a screen and wondering what to write. There’s a fleeting moment upon finishing a day at work where you’re filled with a vague sense of accomplishment mixed with relief. You think ‘I can now go home and do whatever I want.’ And then you get home and realise you have no idea what you want to do, before succumbing to the realisation that there isn’t anything to do that doesn’t involve a screen of any kind. Go on, think of something to do that doesn’t involve a screen. I’ll wait…

How many things did you think of? If you said meet up with friends, think how many people actually have friends these days. There aren’t many and those that do don’t meet up with them because they’re all looking at screens. If you said go for a walk, then I can only assume you are from the 19th century.  I live in the centre of Stevenage, there is nowhere worth walking to. Not to mention the level of homelessness seems to have risen of late and for some unfathomable reason, they all seem to think I have lots of money and will be the one to pull them up the social ladder. I don’t have any money, and the social ladder’s been locked inside a shed for some time now.

Yet still, I am bombarded with requests for loose change. If I believe the stories thrown in my direction, I do try and help. But rarely do I believe and it’s a very complicated, multi-layered issue that requires more thought than just ‘here’s 50p’. The outermost layer being the already mentioned: I have no money. I would get into some of the other layers, but better people than I have tried to solve the problem of poverty and social inequality and it’s apparently still a problem. So, like most people, I will ignore the issue altogether and focus on my own trivial existence. I’m sure it will sort itself out. Like global warming and this Syria issue.

Global catastrophe and potential war crimes aside, someone in my office ordered some new headphones today. What’s notable about this event is that he ordered them and, two hours later, they were delivered to the office. I’m not prone to over reacting, but I feel this is poultry up the anus insane.

The idea of next day delivery annoys me for a myriad of reasons, let alone same day delivery. For one, before the age of internet shopping, you could get things on the same day you bought them, it just required going to a shop. Historians reckon there used to be loads of them and archaeologists have recently uncovered what they believe to be the foundations of an old [insert defunct store here and wait for the hilarity to settle down].

Furthermore, next day delivery has led to an influx of delivery vans on the road, which we all know leads to more pollution. It has also led to the exploitation of many hard workers being paid a pittance to deliver approximately one bazillion parcels. There have been reports of drivers not being permitted bathroom breaks and being paid well under minimum wage. Which is outrageous because cumulatively, I spend at least two hours a week on the toilet and get slightly above the national average for my age, which means I’m probably earning more per hour doing a shit than a driver does delivering shit to impatient shits.

Sure, you all take to the internet to say, ‘that’s outrageous, that’s like modern slavery!’ (although it’s a difficult one to compare. On the one hand, drivers do get paid, but on the other, slaves probably got to go to the toilet when they wanted), but you’re also the first ones to be on the phone complaining that your Superman graphic novel wasn’t delivered, leading to some poor driver getting reprimanded. I fucking hate you! You next day delivering arse!

There are even apps that allow you to track your delivery in real time. Which is terrifyingly dystopian, you, watching over these poor delivery drivers to make sure they’re keeping to the exact minute promised by corporations earning billions in profits. Soon, they’ll add the option to shock your driver if you don’t think they’re going fast enough and the slowest driver of the week will be beheaded for all to see.

But you don’t care about any of this do you? As long as you get your things and get them now! You’ll be demanding your latest video game release get blasted down from space the exact second you hit order!

Why are you so desperate for your things? Even various sofa shops are doing next day delivery now. How has anyone found themselves in the position that they’re that desperate for a sofa? Even if your sofa is inexplicably stolen by the world’s most impractical thief (the resale value on a sofa can’t be worth the effort of lugging it out your living room), just sit on the floor for a couple of days.

‘It’s efficient though. It’s good to have things quick. We want the things and we want it now, it’s instant gratification, we don’t like waiting. No sooner than we get the thing delivered THE SAME DAY, we’ll be ordering the next thing. Chip chip driver, no time for sleep, I don’t care if your bladder has just exploded and your crying urine.’ That’s you that is.

Why bother waiting to order the thing? Why bother waiting until you know you even want the thing? Don’t even wait until the thing has been invented yet. Don’t wait for anything, just press the cease existing button and never wait again.emergency stop

…well that got out of hand.



First of all, why would anyone suck an egg? Secondly, why do grandmothers have such expert knowledge on the subject? Why can old people get away with talking complete arse and calling their drivel ‘sayings’. My nan used to say, ‘you’d laugh to see a pudding roll.’ Who wouldn’t? If your pudding started flopping around of its own accord, you would laugh. At the very least you’d smirk. If you were stood in a forest clearing and a swiss roll rolled past, that’d be amusing.

I never understand sayings and idioms, they make me mad. But then again, everything does. Like the Plus Net guy, I fucking hate that guy. He’s been trying to sell broadband for years. Is he proud of himself?




No doubt he’s watching someone stomp on my dreams.


Despite recently getting a job that’s paying me more than I’ve ever been paid (which is not to say it’s a lot, just I’ve never been paid much) I am currently homeless. I’m not destitute, I’m just of no fixed abode and crashing on my mum’s sofa and my dad’s spare bed. Having spent more time with my mum and 10-year-old sister, it is becoming more apparent that I am a difficult person to live with. Mainly because of my hateful and angry nature. I have tried to control this, I have tried to let things go and not get worked up over trivial things, but then Owen Wilson comes on the TV and starts talking about sofas and I just become incensed. It astounds me how that man has a career. I think I’d even say the Plusnet man is more bearable than him, and I hate the Plusnet man.

I can’t stand anything. Everything is stupid. The news, global politics, the entertainment industry, life is just becoming unbearable and if I’m set to live for the national average I’ve got another 55 years to go. How have we got to this point? How has the USA got a bloated mutated baby as their elected leader and why is he trying to run the country via Twitter. Why does Russia bother denying that they’re doing dodgy shit? They’ve got the worst poker faces. Most of the time they don’t even bother to hide their smug smirks.  How is Come Dine With Me a thing?

It’s fucking unbearable. Four attention starved wankers cooking for one another in a desperate bid to win £1000. Why is there never an episode where one poisons the others?

Why do I have to get my haircut? And why are all the hairdressers so busy? Why is everywhere so busy? There are too many people, it’s making everything take thrice as long. Why is renting so expensive? A one bed flat with smelly carpet and half a wall separating the ‘lounge’ with another room that was generously called a kitchen was demanding £725 a month. A MONTH! That’s insane. That’s more aggravating than Owen Wilson talking about sofas.

Why did my shoes fall apart? Shoes are expensive. That’s capitalism for you. Buy these shoes, they’ll fall apart within a few months and you’ll have to buy some more shoes. It’s the only way to keep the shoe industry going. Why are my friends all getting fat? Their fatness doesn’t bother me, but what are they eating? It doesn’t make sense. Why does this man insist on talking about museums.

Why can I not think of a suitable blog post to keep my online presence going and keep my dream of being a rich writer alive?


Sort of Topical Post

As in all things, I strive to be ever so slightly behind where current events are concerned. I tend to read the news a mere three times a week, that way I get more out of the experience. Now, as a fairly left leaning liberal, it’s once again time to leap to the aid of the NHS. By that, I mean write a half-arsed article for my handful of loyal readers to look at before realising I don’t have any doodles in this one.

Recently, that toad faced caricature of a bloated egotist Donald Trump tweeted that ‘thousands of people are marching in the UK because their U system is going broke and not working.’ I don’t know what a U system is. This is once again indicative that one of the most powerful men in the world gets his global information from Fox News and that gaping hole that is his anus alone.

If he knew anything about British culture he’d know that we don’t march if things are broken and not working. If things get broken, we all collectively go ‘Waaaay’ before returning to our alcoholic stupors. If things aren’t working, we hit it and if that doesn’t solve the matter we return to our alcoholic stupors.

The march was in fact a proactive demonstration to demand more money for an NHS that has worked for many decades and that we all hold very dear. It is a system that works very well on the whole, but needs more resources. We need more doctors and we definitely need more money. Money that we in the United Kingdom are more than happy to pay.

No one likes the idea of taxes rising. Parties and politicians refrain from uttering the phrase lest they’re taken out back and beaten before being hung from a tree. Yet, everyone underestimates how much we’re willing to pay for our beloved NHS.

Recent polls reveal that three quarters of us are willing to pay one whole pound a week to help better fund the NHS. A whole pound! That’s one quarter of a pint. The issue there remains, this money would have to go to the NHS. Not like that 350 million of Brexit money that was promised to it and now when asked, Boris Johnson laughs, shrugs and spits on a poor person.

We’d be willing to pay, if we were assured it was going where it was needed and we saw the results. Everyone deserves free healthcare, why should it be reserved for those who can afford it? No one plans to go to hospital, no one makes the conscious effort to get cancer, except for smokers maybe. Why should people have to re-mortgage their home to pay for life saving surgery?

This is why I’ll never understand America. Barak Obama tried really hard to provide the people with affordable healthcare and the people responded as though he was trying to kill their children. Trump doesn’t want universal healthcare, he much prefers the idea of having to pay $2,000 to recast a broken arm and if you can’t afford it, he wants you to stagger around for the rest of your life with misshapen limbs.

Of course, he speaks from that privileged position of being a very rich man. Medical bills are nothing to him, so he would not understand. Keeping your people healthy is imperative for a happy functioning nation. As absurd as it may sound to the human mind, in somethings, we must be willing to come together and do what we can for the greater good. The capitalist system may work in some respects, but there are times when we have to put it aside.

It will be hard. Introducing universal healthcare won’t be cheap and it will not happen over one night, but the benefits will be tremendous. It’ll put everyone on an equal footing as far as health is concerned. If you are rich and can’t abide the idea of using the same hospitals as everyone else, because you’re better than them, then there’ll still be private healthcare.

I just find it irksome when – for lack of a better term – ignorant twats argue against universal healthcare by making wild claims about the NHS. The fact is, we get sick, we go to a doctor, we get better and we’re not left in destitution.

There are flaws yes. Every system has flaws and these can be overcome with the right funding and a fucking multiparty council to look after all things NHS to avoid politics getting too involved. We need to encourage our youth to stop doing film studies courses and pursue a rewarding medicine career. The more doctors and nurses we have, the less strained the system will be.

I know anecdotal accounts don’t really count as evidence in most situations, but recently my uncle passed away from cancer. When he took a turn for the worst it had been snowing, which in England means everything stops running. An NHS doctor got on a train only to get stranded an entire town away from where my uncle was, so, in the snow, he walked. It was by no means a short walk, nor a pleasant one, but he did so anyway. My uncle got the treatment he needed and admitted to a hospice where he could be comfortable in his final week or so. Does this sound like a broken system?

When people complain about long waiting times in A&E, ask them what they were there for. You’ll find they won’t say ‘my arm had been severed and I was bleeding to death whilst on fire’. They’ll say ‘I bashed my finger and it really hurt. It wasn’t broken in the end just a bit swollen.’

The NHS is a profoundly human thing. We all own it collectively. It is ours. We can help make it better and we should. Then if Trump comes on a state visit (assuming he’s not throwing a tantrum over the size of the American embassy or the selection of morning pastries), we can injure him with a bat. Then let him get some free treatment. That’ll learn him, I think.


Well that’s that. If you want to see some half arsed articles I got paid to write on subjects i have no authority on, please see the links below.  Also, my absurdist collection of short stories ‘The Tiny Compendium of Ridiculousness‘ is cheap. Buy that. It has 5 stars on the version. That’s the most stars you can get.