Imagine Being Patient #4,154,560

The next time some dreamy pinko starts whining about how wonderful Britain’s National Health Service (NHS) is, feel free to show him or her this article (when you are done kicking their ass, of course):

The NHS waiting list in England is the longest it has been in 11 years, official figures have revealed today.
A staggering 4,154,559 people – around six per cent of the entire UK population – were waiting to start hospital treatment at the end of August.  This number is the highest it has been since August 2007, and more than 3,000 people have been waiting more than a year for routine treatment.
A&E [ER] departments are also getting busier and cancer treatment waiting times have been missed for the 32nd month in a row, NHS data showed.  Experts today warned ‘alarm bells’ are ringing and the health service is heading straight for another winter crisis as it buckles under ‘relentless pressure’.  An ageing population and shortages of doctors and nurses have been blamed for increasing strain on the NHS and it taking longer to treat patients.

But hey… as long as it’s free, right?

And speaking of free, of course it turns out that “free” also means “rationing” (emphasis mine):

Shortages of Fluad, a new super-vaccine offering better protection for over-65s, means pensioners across the country are being turned away by GPs.  Deliveries of the vaccine to surgeries and pharmacies are being staggered due to supply problems and 40 per cent of the 7.8 million doses will not be available until next month.
The Government’s Joint Committee on Vaccination and Immunisation recommended Fluad last December, but it took NHS England until February 5 to tell GPs and pharmacies they needed to buy it.  Clinics that failed to order by the April 12 deadline have had no stock delivered, forcing them to beg for supplies from others.

So if you’re (say) 63 years old, British and catch a potentially-deadly strain of flu, that’s just too bad.  Life’s lottery — or, to be more precise, the NHS lottery — just gave it to you between the cheeks.

Wear boots when kicking.


No Way

Talking about some fresh unhinged lunacy perpetrated by the Democrats last week,  Insty’s Ed Driscoll opined:

As Conquest’s third law of politics states, “The simplest way to explain the behavior of any bureaucratic organization is to assume that it is controlled by a cabal of its enemies.”

With all respect to Ed (and to Mr. Conquest), I would suggest that there is no way that the hapless Republicans could engineer such a mess.  The GOP couldn’t organize an orgy at a brothel, let alone control this bag of cats.

Nope;  the Democrats’ current insanity is completely self-managed, fueled by copious amounts of liberal stupidity and Marxism [some overlap].

So Much For THAT Campaign

So one-time-moderate Republican Phil Bredesen is campaigning for the U.S. Senate seat in Tennessee, as a Democrat.

One might think that this would be an uphill battle as it is;  but apparently the people who are trying to get this tool elected said this recently:

A top spokesman for the Tennessee Democratic Party’s effort to get Phil Bredesen elected senator has said he views “white male” gun owners as “the biggest terrorist organization on the planet.”

In Tennessee.  Well, I guess there’s only one thing to say to Bredesen:  buh-bye.

In the meantime, all you dangerous white male gun-owning terrorists should do the responsible thing — no, not that thing, the voting thing.

And let’s make sure that Marsha Blackburn isn’t the only Republican sent to the Senate come November.  Ditto the House.

November 6 just can’t come quickly enough.

Monday Funnies

Yeccchhh, it’s Monday;  oh well, time to get to work:

And to continue with the boating theme:

Answer:  his boyfriend over on the next boat.

And some (admittedly-dated) Formula One humor:

Some land-lubberly advice:


And for some non-nautical black-and-white Monday beauty, there’s Anita Ekberg:


Striking Beauty

Out of sheer boredom, I was watching some piece of Netflix tripe called Designated Survivor, which is a peculiar mixture of dystopia and liberal bollocks (Cliff Notes: don’t bother).  Ordinarily, shows of this ilk get about ten minutes’ attention before I move on to another offering, but I didn’t do so with this one, and watched the entire first season.


Because the female costar was the astonishing Brit actress Natascha McElhone:

She’s one of those rare beauties who looks good even when she’s not made up and posed:

Ultimately, though, the basic premise of the show was settled by the final episode of Season 1, so the next (or any other future) season will remain unwatched.  And by the way:  Kiefer Sutherland (the show’s protagonist) is a total wuss.  [2,000 words about Canadian actors deleted]

Best Comedy TV (Part 8)

Absolutely Fabulous (UK)

Absolutely nobody I know likes this ridiculous, over-the-top, outrageous and over-acted series, but I absolutely fucking love it.  The fact that the show is based on an actual PR person (no names, no pack drill) makes it even more delicious.

The point is that from beginning to end, AbFab is not actually a comedy, but satire — and it lampoons everything, from the PR business to fashion to feminism to family relations and oh so much more.  Whether it’s the frantic, hysterical Edina’s latest fad diet, the feline Patsy’s fondness for Bollinger at 8am or insufferable daughter Saffron’s earnest espousal of everything PC, AbFab doesn’t so much skewer it as either a bludgeon it with a club or flay it with a razor.

Saffie:  I’m sorry, mum, but I’ve never seen what it is that you actually do.
Eddie:  PRrr.
Saffie:  Yes, but —
Eddie:  PR.  I PR things.  People.  Places.  Concepts…
Patsy:  Lulu.
Eddie:  Lulu.  I make the fabulous…  I make the crap into credible.  I make the dull into —
Patsy:  Delicious.

No better description of public relations was ever penned.  And as for PR awards:

Eddie:  They don’t matter, do they, darling?… Awards, Pats?
Patsy:  Oh, Eddy. We’ve been here before.
Eddie:  It’s just… you know… I WANT one. I don’t just want one, darling, I NEED one. My career is on a toboggan run of failure at the moment… I just need one. It’s the only thing that seems to mean ANYthing these days… I need one now before the menopause drags me into her gaping jaws. Before my creative hormonal oil-well dribbles to a halt. Before my bottom becomes just a patch-work quilt of monkey glands, darling.
Saffie:  But, Mum, menopause can be a very exhilarating and positive experience for a woman.
Eddie:  Oooh, yes.  And the curse is a blessing and childbirth is painless.  No.  Unless that gaping hole on my mantle piece is filled pretty soon, darling, I might as well… I might as well lick this light-switch and do us all a favour, darling…


[to daughter Saffron, after a heated argument]
Eddie:  With any luck we’d get Roman Polanski interested in you.
Patsy (snarling):  She was never young enough for him.

Not to mention the booze:

Patsy:  What will you drink if you stop drinking?
Eddie:  I shall drink water.
Eddie:  It’s a mixer, Pats.  We have it with whisky… I mean, you‘ve given up drinking before? 
Patsy:  Worst eight hours of my life.

Finally, there’s Eddie’s mother, played by the amazing June Whitfield:

Eddy:  Mother, are you still on the computer?
Gran:  Yes, dear.  Sometimes you get into a porn loop and just can’t get out.

And then of course there’s Patsy:

“The last mosquito that bit me had to check into the Betty Ford Clinic.”

Fabulous.  Absolutely fabulous.