How to live without healthcare, a government guide

CONCERNED about the junior doctor’s strike? Worried it will bring the NHS to its knees? Learn how to live without healthcare with this guide.

Stay at home

The outside world is full of hazards like cars and foreigners. To protect yourself as much as possible, remain indoors permanently with a duvet wrapped around your fragile meat sack to shield it from sharp corners. If you can fit yourself into your freezer, put yourself into makeshift cryosleep until the strike blows over.

Sanitise everything

Just like you did at the start of the pandemic, remember? That was great fun. This way you’ll be able to ward off any pesky bacteria that might get into your body and give you a nasty infection. Either that or it’ll lower your immune system so drastically that even a big piece of pollen becomes a life-threatening risk. Anyway, try it and let us know how you get on.

Concoct your own medicines

Who needs junior doctors anyway? True patriots would much rather take back control of their healthcare by making their own. You must be able to Google a fix for a hernia or whip up a miracle elixir with the contents of your medicine cabinet, surely? Crushing up some paracetamol and stirring them into a big bowl of Calpol will likely cure what ails you.

Learn to live with pain

Is the pain of a broken bone really that bad? Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic writhing around in agony with kidney stones? Stop being such a woke snowflake and see these ailments for what they really are: a reminder that you’re still alive and kicking. There are plenty of dead people who would love to be in your position, so start showing some gratitude.

Give dying a try

Is death really that bad? Nobody can be 100 per cent certain. For all we know, an afterlife free from pain and suffering could be waiting for us on the other side. You’d feel like a right idiot for fretting over an underfunded NHS if there is. Why not ease pressure on hospital waiting lists by giving the big sleep a try? No no, you first, we insist.

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My insufferably smug career plans after Edinburgh. By a posh girl

EDINBURGH is being invaded by middle-class students hoping their dire fringe shows will lead to comedy or acting success. Here Charlotte Phelps outlines her slightly nauseating plans.

What I love about the Fringe is the energy, the creativity, the anarchy, and of course offering a career path with the earning potential of a senior management role at a top blue chip like KPMG.

I’m here with my one-woman comedy show Menstruation Nation. It’s about the conflicting pressures on a modern woman trying to live up to her feminist principles in a society that only values attractive, confident, well-spoken people who went to St Paul’s Girls’ School like me.

The show’s brilliant conceit is that my character’s period is her competitive best friend. It’s hard to represent a period on stage, so I just use a red spotlight whenever I’m in the role of Elizabeth’s menstrual blood. My friend Persephone said it was ‘very relatable’.

I’ve had a love of performing since an early age. ‘Christ, will you stop bloody showing off, Charlotte?’ my father used to joke. I wouldn’t, and here I am now with a successful Edinburgh show with audiences of up to four people a night – some of them partially sober!

I intend to follow an established career path of winning the Perrier, getting a TV show no one likes except The Guardian because it’s about a woman, then branching out into drama. Comedy is in my blood, but obviously I’d sack that off PDQ because film’s where the real money is.

The only bump in the road I’ve encountered so far on my journey to a massive house in Primrose Hill is the reaction to the show itself, which hasn’t been as universally positive as I’d have hoped.

‘Suffers a fundamental problem for a comedy of not being in any way amusing,’ said The Scotsman. ‘I’ve had funnier colonoscopies than this bucket of putrid shit,’ said Time Out in an uncharacteristically harsh review, no doubt written by a member of the patriarchy.

I’m not letting it deter me though. With some ruthless networking and self-promotion I’ll still be on TV in a few years with a toe-curlingly unfunny show that’s actually physically uncomfortable to watch. I’m just one of those people you can’t keep down, unfortunately.