NHS Direct

So... NHS Direct is being culled. Unlike so many others, I just have to shrug my shoulders and say "oh" with an overwhelming sense of crushing apathy. It is not so much that I don't care; it is more that I can't even bring myself to care about the fact that I don't care. The fact that GPs have called for it to be cut makes me, if it were possible, even more apathetic.

Yet people moan, and people bleat. For the life of me, I can't figure out why. Unless it is the fact that NHS Direct has the acronym NHS in it, and that acts as a flashpoint for idiots. "You can't cut the NHS!" they scream, like an unthinking mob of would-be right-on campaigners. However, the fact that the campaign to save this glorified health call centre is being spearheaded by that fat cunt John Prescott convinces me that this is not so much a storm in a tea-cup as a fart in a tea-cup; the sort of campaign only of interest to the terminally whiney - the sort of mindless statist chumps who should, at best, be politely patronised and, at worst, just plain ignored.

Grow up, people. And get a grip while you're doing it.