We’re all tired and depressed when it comes to contemplating the future of the National Health Service. It’s a heartbeat away from its parts being sold for scrap and doesn’t have enough money and even for the time being doesn’t have the funds to pay staff, buy sufficient equipment, paint lavish murals across the walls to boost morale. Probably, I may be riffing here but we all know (I mean, deep in our bones, there’s no way for anyone to deny this blatantly unassailable fact) that the NHS is chronically underfunded.
So let’s move onto pastures new but take the shuffling stumbling old gal with us, something of a last hurrah before we have to have her put down. We really ought to take the time to get to know her before she goes. There’s a wealth of information and slews of fascinating stories she’s bursting to tell.
It’s probably an idea to kick things off with something easy that won’t throw her into too much of a confusing contemplative tailspin. Perhaps her favourite colour or her ideal world cuisine? Then you can slowly but surely migrate towards more fruitful avenues of conversation. Maybe ask the noble lady what her first memory was? You’ll find yourself hurtled into a more golden era for public health, bustling with bright eyed doctors and idealistic bushy tailed brand new nurses (yeah, I haven’t done any research for this whatsoever).
Should you find the interview lagging you could always delve into a ready supply of emergency questions. You know the sort of thing, would she rather have a mouth like a duck’s bill or be covered in feathers? Or which new body part would she select out of a hand made out of ham or an armpit that dispenses sun cream? Almost certainly the latter given her strident stance on melanoma and the numbers of her staff that will inevitably subscribe to Jewish or Islamic practices.