WELL, what did you make of it? I am of course referring to the unveiling of Labour’s ten-year plan for the NHS. Is it just me, or have we seen from innumerable administrations innumerable plans for the NHS? Every time, like jam tomorrow, we are solemnly promised a radical change that will transform this moribund behemoth into a beacon of excellence.
Every time however, like a jilted lover, we are left crestfallen and disconsolate, knowing only too well that we will be once again herded like cattle through a system that focuses less on patient care than burnishing its already gleaming woke credentials.
Our Prime Minister’s speaking-clock delivery merely heightened the already keen sense of absurdity that surrounds anything connected with the sainted NHS. Of course, there might be a few gullible individuals who on hearing Sir Keir’s honeyed words unlocked their ornament case and devotedly touched the totemic Crying Rachel statue, hoping against hope that this time it will be different.
Sorry to disabuse those so minded, but I can guarantee with absolute certainty that with the same single-minded purpose that rendered HS2 one of the UK’s most costly, useless and shaming projects, so too will our glorious leader’s vision for the NHS turn out to be nothing more than a tempting mirage. A fantasy that will disappear without trace, but not before being hosed down with billions of pounds of taxpayers’ money.
Seeing Sir Keir with predictably unbuttoned shirt, flanked by the obligatory angels and heroes, waxing lyrical about his ‘vision’, I fleetingly wondered whether he was there not so much in an official capacity but more as a patient, such was his detachment from Planet Earth.
I watched his performance with increasingly glazed eyes, especially when I heard that patients would soon have walk-in appointments, and access to debt advice and employment support. Just access to a GP would suit most individuals, Sir Keir – forget the inconsequential and vacuous baubles.
I don’t know if his speeches are crafted by AI, a technology which he deifies, but please could someone tell him to stop using the word ‘transform’. My dictionary provides this definition: ‘to change completely the appearance or character of something or someone, especially so that thing or person is improved’.
If there is one institution impervious to change, it’s the NHS – oh, and the Civil Service.
How many times have we been promised a revolution in healthcare, only to be on the receiving end of the corporate equivalent of a new ink blotter?
Grindingly working through his vocal gears, Sir Keir got to the part which clearly excited him, the bit when he combines AI and technology. Like a child unwrapping a new battery-powered toy, the PM spoke of a ‘transformed’ NHS app which would not only be a ‘dynamic force’ that gives us ‘control over our health’, but would become ‘an indispensable part of life for everyone’ and, the masterstroke, ‘it would be like having a GP in your pocket’.
I suppose I would have to put my hand in my pocket at 8am if I was to have any chance of communicating with said medico.
Oblivious to the absurdity of what was on the teleprompter, he pledged that this pocket-dwelling GP would be on hand 24 hours a day, seven days a week – appointments at your convenience. Quite naturally, this would be achievable only by the all-conquering app that would ‘hold all your healthcare data in an easily accessible single patient record’.
Every time I hear this canard wheeled out, I start counting the spoons. It will be one small step from this seemingly valuable tool to a fully functional ID system. Quite where this unshakeable faith in technology stems from is a mystery, given the litany of failed and poorly functioning IT projects governments have given birth to.
One item stood out, though, and that was his evident pride that ‘this year, we will raise an entirely smoke-free generation’. I would rather have a generation of nicotine-stained-fingered adolescents who were capable of a day’s work than a generation of ill-equipped emotionally stunted boobies who take offence at the slightest thing.
The one tantalising question that wasn’t addressed on Thursday was the name that would be given to this modern medical marvel. Some attendees felt that something nostalgic and reassuring would be suitable and thought Dr Finlay appropriate. Music lovers wanted the sublime 70s band from Canvey Island honoured, and proposed Dr Feelgood. However, wanting to reflect the contemporary experience of dealing with a GP, the consensus landed on Dr Dolittle.
