THROUGHOUT this papier-mâché emergency, government advice has been to stay at home if you test positive for Covid-19, and only once you’ve turned blue might you receive medical attention for your illness.
Treatment that was the norm for years is now actively denied by a state leading, inter alia, to the biggest cancer catastrophe ever, as it prioritises Covid and the vaccination campaign over all else. In fact the scale of the indirect acute effects of this denial have been found to be so large as to be unquantifiable, in a UK population-based study published earlier this year.
In addition to the impact on major physical diseases and emergencies, there has been a tragic acceleration of depression, self-harm, anxiety, eating disorders, obsessive-compulsive disorder and severe mental illness.
The cruel irony of this treatment-denying strategy is that so many cases of mental illness are a direct result of the government’s hysterical pandemic response and campaign of Covid mass-anxiety.
To add insult to injury, what little help that is proffered to combat this state-sponsored pandemic of mental and emotional disorders is farcical in the extreme. If you deem yourself unstable and unable to cope, current advice is to contact your GP, whose receptionist may arrange a phone consultation for some weeks down the line. This is to assess whether you are a risk to yourself, or only on your way to becoming a risk to yourself; either way by that time it may be too late for some.
If the former, and if you have managed to hold out for long enough, you may potentially receive a lifesaving intervention. If the latter, you are directed to a totally ineffectual and condescending online ‘pull yourself together’ portal, such as the NHS’s Every Mind Matters – a service whose ‘just calm down’approach to therapy acts as a kind of accelerant to suicidal thought, leaving the patient feeling almost as if the government actually wanted him or her to die.
This cavalier response to human need and suffering, this monstrous betrayal of the NHS promise of free-at-the-point-of-delivery healthcare for all, brings me to ask the Prime Minister this question: at what point exactly, during your journey from vulnerable, wailing infant to amply-grown so-called man, did you decide that human life was expendable and the well-being of the masses your plaything?
At what point in your spiritual growth did you decide that the entire nation under your charge should be sacrificially denied both mental and physical treatments to help service a low-fatality ‘pandemic’, the totem of your narcissistic geopolitical posturing?
You seem to have been corrupted by external agents, and although I despise the trajectory of your submission to these forces, I would nevertheless like to speak in your defence for once.
Prime Minister, you are neither God, Satan nor despot, but a flesh-and-blood human like the rest of us, and shall be judged as such at the time of your own expiry.
I don’t believe for a single second that you are at ease with pretending otherwise; you have wandered morally astray, as we are all wont to do from time to time, but have found yourself unable to locate your way back to reason, as you lack the necessary benign human influence and support around you.
You are lost in the darkness without a light, yet pretend to be standing in the light fending off the darkness. It’s a perilous situation to find oneself in, Sir, and yet one so easily remedied with a little brotherly and sisterly love.
Ventilators, Prime Minister, are not a form of love: affordable and proven-safe Covid-19 preventive medications are. Neither are multiple-choice online-counselling widgets a form of psychological support, as is a trained professional meticulously reading the travails behind one’s eyes.
I want to believe that you believe wholeheartedly in your rotten vision of the future – a discriminatory world in which widespread distress, fear and hysteria affords the state free licence to pick and choose the level of humanity at which citizens are permitted to operate – so that I can simply write you off as evil to the core, but I can’t.
A face says more than a thousand words, Sir, and yours betrays the emotional torture of a wayward soul just as worthy of an intervention of compassion as the millions forced to swallow the bitter pill of mental illness, the unfortunate, painful progeny of your own struggles.
You don’t have the countenance of authoritarianism, not at all. Yours is that of a forgivable rogue, a charming reprobate, regardless of the rotten politics the soul behind it has become entangled within, and I suspect that you and I – you and anyone – would get on famously over a pint and a bit of chewing the fat.
You look tired, Prime Minister. Keeping up this good-cop-bad-cop charade you seem to have been bullied into adopting must really be taking it out of you. Maintaining a lie is exhausting, especially when it’s in the upkeep of someone else’s deceit. But it’s never too late to ditch the pursuit of madness, and I am sure you’d like your old life back just as much as we would.
So say adios to Omicron, goodbye Gates, toodle-pip to masks, vaccine passports and work from home orders. Say back to work, doctor, there’s a good chap; go home to YouGov where you belong, Zahawi old boy; Javid, crank up the Crimbo anthems; Vallance, you’re on cocktail duty; Van-Tam, just play football in the snow, there’s a good lad; and Ferguson, well, sorry old bean, you’re sacked.
Let’s have a raucous, BoJo-faced, proper Freedom Day knees-up to see out 2021 legally, shall we? And two fingers up to another dreary Christmas playing Chris Whitty’s public health-cribbage over lateral flow tests and Lemsip.
It’s not too late, Sir.
