It is reported that the NHS is planning to put late-night drunken revellers who think they need medical attention into Drunk Tanks in which they can sleep it off and sober up under a minimum of medical oversight instead of filling up hospital A&E departments.

If you get drunk you might feel ill,
And think that you should take a pill,
But you’re not ill, you’re likely thick,
And have been drinking till you’re sick.

It maybe that you cannot stand,
Unless somebody takes your hand,
And even then you’ve little clue,
About what’s going on round you.

But not to worry ’cos a friend,
Who is concerned a hand may lend;
He doesn’t want to take a chance,
So rings up for an ambulance.

The ambulance comes right on cue,
A medic takes a look at you,
While your thoughts, if they’re there at all,
Start seeing if you can recall,
What the nurses were like last time,
When you’d had too much gin and lime.

But this time you’re in for a shock,
Because we’re in a new epoch,
And those people who too much drank,
Are thrown into a new drunk tank.

That’s basically a metal box,
A touch, perhaps, unauthodox,
But where, because of all you’ve quaffed,
They leave you there to sleep it off.

Most likely this takes all the night,
At end of which you’ll be all right,
And p’rhaps have learned what drinks to pick,
So that next time you won’t be sick!


Pig in bed

It is reported that Dr Brown Bear, who seems to be Peppa Pig’s dedicated physician, is setting a bad example by being constantly on call and making home visits for the most trivial of complaints. The NHS can’t keep up.

The NHS does pretty well,
You are alive – that’s how to tell,
But then for an appointment date,
You sometimes might just have to wait.

It could be one day, maybe two,
But seldom more than just a few,
And, in most cases, you must go,
To surgery as you well know.

For visits home are rather few,
(Those where the doctor comes to you),
And if your complaint’s rather small,
He probably won’t come at all.

But if you are a pig, it seems,
You get the doctor of your dreams,
For if he thinks you might be ill,
Although with no more than a chill,
He’ll pop round quickly – in a trice –
And offer you his sound advice.

“Just go to bed with some warm milk,
Which will treat complaints of this ilk,
But if it doesn’t seem to work,
It, probably, is just some quirk,
So call me back at any time –
We might, instead, try gin and lime.”

Now you’ll know as you read this rhyme,
This all just wastes the doctor’s time,
And people who aren’t pigs might say,
Doctors should not behave this way.

They should be fair but always firm,
And if the pig’s just caught a germ,
It really should fend for itself,
With tablets are that off the shelf.

But if the pig should go and die,
It could be that it left its sty,
And then slept in a place too warm,
Which, for a pig, is not the norm.

This would get one pig off the books,
To go and live with ghosts and spooks;
But relatives might complain if,
The doctor only saw a sniff,
And left the pig to overheat,
For half an hour per pound of meat.

So if you are a pig beware,
There are not many doctors spare,
And if you should complain too hard,
You, too, might get turned into lard!

Image – http://www.clipartof.com


Writing pen

It is reported that a family has complained about a letter received from the NHS which praised the father of their child for ‘manfully stepping in’ to take their child to hospital when the mother was indisposed. To make matters worse (to any normal, intelligent person) the NHS trust did not ignore the complaint but sent an official letter of apology to the family, and the Daily Telegraph took up seventeen column inches to write about it. Lord preserve us from these people!

The NHS is pretty good,
It makes us better when it should,
But maybe one should not expect,
In each and every dialect,
That it is expert with its words,
Including those described as surds.

And so you might expect someone,
Would focus on the treatments done,
And not on every little word,
Writ in a letter – that’s absurd.

Such expectations, though, are dashed,
Because some woman’s ear bashed,
The NHS ’cos they were sent,
A letter writ with good intent,
Which used a word – that’s ‘manfully’ –
Which she says is insulting she.

The letter said her husband had –
Perhaps because he was the dad –
Stepped in to ‘manfully’ convey,
Their girl to hospital that day.

But in this innocent remark,
The woman saw a meaning dark:
She didn’t want, reading this cant,
To put up with this sexist rant.

So she complained, just as you would,
Insisted the hospital should,
Apologise and write again,
And this time not to mention men.

The hospital (with nought to do?)
Thought this a good idea too,
And so they penned some words to say,
That they were very sorry they,
With grief were now themselves beside,
And, in fact, they were mortified.

So let your watchword be, ‘Take care’,
If you want to avoid despair,
Writing to Harry, Tom or Dick –
They might not like the words you pick!



It is reported that dentists and doctors have been defrauding the NHS by claiming payments for work not done and making up fake patients.

The dentist’s not your favourite place,
He pokes about inside your face,
But it does not hurt much until,
The man gets going with his drill.

“The drill! The drill!” I hear you say,
Although it’s used to treat decay,
It’s pretty nasty you’ll agree,
And then it isn’t even free.

You have to sit there, “Open wide!”
As he now thrusts the thing inside,
“This will not hurt, no not at all,
And so no pain will you befall.”

Well, that’s all trash, as you know well,
Intended just your fears to quell,
But lest you are a right old berk,
A trick like this will never work.

So now some dentists have a plan,
To do more drilling when they can,
While bending o’er the dentist’s chair,
Without the patient being there.

This may seem odd to you and me,
But patients can react with glee,
And dentists have their fortunes made,
Provided that they still get paid.

So what they do is make a list,
Of folk who mostly don’t exist,
And they pretend that they have drilled,
So the NHS can be billed.

For some time this has worked a treat,
It is, of course, a dreadful cheat,
And crooked dentists like these ought,
To be discovered and all caught.

So dentist’s everywhere watch out,
Bills must be right or thereabout;
You mustn’t try more cash to take,
By claiming patients who are fake.


Chocolate bars

It is reported that the NHS wants hospital shops and vending machines to stop selling large-size snacks which contain more than 250 calories.

In hospital one can get fat,
And if you ask, ‘What’s wrong with that?’
Well, being thin’s not just a fad,
’Cos being fat can be quite bad.

It leads to illness, as you know,
It’s hard work when you’re on the go,
And if you too much chocolate crave,
You’ll be in for an early grave.

More to the point, you might fall ill,
But not responsive to a pill;
The NHS then takes you in,
And starves you till it makes you thin.

How they do this, they are all clued,
They serve unappetising food,
And till it’s eaten it’s a cert,
That no way will you get dessert.

But if you think that you can sneak,
Into the shop and take a peek,
At all their snacks there on display,
And all you’ve got to do is pay,
Then I’ve bad news, I am afraid,
’Cos chocolate, sweets and lemonade,
Now come in very tiny packs,
So really not much of a snack.

So for a snack, please bide your time,
For neither is there beer or wine,
But, in the end, if you lose weight,
Perhaps you won’t then meet your fate!



It is reported that Marks & Spencer’s decision to stop selling sugary drinks in its hospital shops has resulted in complaints from some NHS trusts, customers and dieticians who say that their choice has been reduced.

Most people do like M&S,
Which always tries to do its best,
For customers who, when not ill,
Will buy things and pay at the till.

So it’s a good idea that,
Its shoppers do not get too fat,
Or they’ll find it hard to respire,
And, on occasions, might expire.

To help prevent this, M&S,
Are selling drinks containing less,
Sugar and calories than before,
So people won’t wear out the floor.

But lots of people have complained,
And not about the weight not gained,
But rather that they have less choice,
When, really, they should all rejoice,
Because they’ll mostly be less fat,
And also might pay less in VAT.

But Marks is sticking to its guns:
“If anyone our new drinks shuns,
And wants to buy unhealthy pop,
Then they can all at Aldi shop!”


Skull smoking

It is reported that people who are overweight or drink or smoke save the government money because the tobacco and alcohol taxes they pay plus the pensions saved owing to their shorter lives far exceed the cost of their medical treatment.

It had been thought that it was good,
To stay as healthy as we could,
And this was helped by staying thin,
Not smoking and not drinking gin.

So governments tried to persuade,
Us to drink only lemonade,
To stay thin, therefore not much Coke,
And definitely not to smoke.

But consequences then arose,
Because if we avoid all those
Bad things which might be thought a sin,
Not so much tax comes rolling in.

And then to make things even worse,
The late arrival of our hearse,
Means we will need our pension for,
Much longer than it was before.

And during this late lease of life,
Senility will be so rife,
That we will all need constant care –
More cost for someone else to bear.

This cannot work, you must agree,
The government’s no cash you see;
The situation’s not robust,
And so we’ll likely all go bust.

The answer, though, is pretty plain,
The government must yet again,
Review the advice that it gives,
Concerning how we all should live.

So they’ll say what we have to do,
Is smoke and drink and party too,
So that we all get big and fat,
And pop our clogs by fifty flat!