God, Fabrice Muamba and why we don’t need the NHS. (and a sweary photo)
The haze of the past few days seems to have lifted slightly, and the nagging ache in my back, caused by pulling a small, light chair away from a table in Starbucks over the weekend, seems to have subsided somewhat, so I thought I’d write a blog post, especially as I want to reveal why we don’t need the NHS.
I still have the remains of a sore throat, though that can be attributed to hay fever, I guess, and today is the first day since Saturday that I haven’t taken any painkillers. That has its own knock-on effect, of course, which is that after several days of taking medicine, my body reacts to the sudden lack of drugs by giving me a headache. No biggy, but still (quite literally) a pain.
My evenings this week have been fairly nondescript, and I’ve tucked myself up in bed before 9 pm on three different nights. The only exception was a night out to a local bar in the City centre (God bless Her Majesty for upgrading the town last week) called Baroosh, which is a recent big favourite of Kip and Loz. In fact, the night was remarkable since, given his obvious love of the place, I didn’t once see Kip rub himself against the building in a show of affection as I suspected I may have done.
Kip brought along his new toy, which was a flashy camera, and insisted on taking some photos. If I remember [Edit: I remembered!], I will post the one he’s put on his blog for all to see as - for once - I didn’t hate it on site.
Next week I’m off up North for a few days with work, and then spending the following week on a two-day work course in London. Note to self: I really should plan something and go out in London after the course.
Life feels like it is unravelling in front of my eyes in many aspects, but there are at least some constants to keep me going and to keep me distracted. One of these is a visit to see Dave Gorman in Chelmsford on Saturday week. I’ve no doubt I’ll come out of there with the desire to write, as is often the way, only to get distracted by FIFA or something else when I get home. Time will tell.
This week also saw Muamba collapse on the field at Spurs vs Bolton, and then a Twitter-fuelled “Pray4Fabrice” campaign. Fortunately, after suffering a heart attack on the pitch and being officially dead for over an hour (Not sure I believe that, but it was in one of the tabloids), he seems to be on the mend.
His fiancée has said that he is alive “by the will of God”, which makes me wonder if we should dock the pay of the on-field paramedics, ambulance drivers and hospital staff who - perhaps fleetingly - seemed to have done the hard work in saving the poor bastard, but now seems as though, seeing as God saved him, they were probably sat around doing nothing.
And we wondered why the government see fit to scrap the NHS.