OH, DOCTOR, I'M IN TROUBLE
WELL, GOODNESS GRACIOUS ME.
Altogether, now, we are scrapping Mr Andrew Spivsley's Health Service reforms not because they are shit, which they are, not because they were dreamed-up while he was drunk in the bath, even though they were and most definitely not because people realised that I hadn't a fucking clue what was going on in my govament. No, we are scrapping them because they are too good. And people don't deserve them. So there. Just because the doctors and the nurses and the midwives and the occupational therapists and radiologists, yes, and the patients, too, so everybody, in fact, says Mr Spivsley's proposals are unworkable, unthought-out, ruinous rubbish doesn't mean they are right. I mean, what do they know, compared to Mr Spivsley? When I say we are scrapping them, what we mean is that we are postponing them for three months whilst we listen to people. And then we will scrap them. Or, better still, just forget them. Like our election promises. I can always blame wotsisname, Clegg, the thicko.
It's rather like the woods, or the forests or whatever it was. Just because Mrs Spellman is a useless, expenses-fiddling, shitbrained, gobby airhead didn't mean that she had it wrong on the woods, or forests, even though she did. Mr Spivsley, oh, I have every confidence in him and will sack him at the earliest possible opportunity.
Mr Andrew Spivsley.
Whilst shadowing the health department in opposition, Spivsley insisted that his moonlighting in the private sector, at fifty grand a year, kept his feet on the ground. Shame it didn't keep his head out of his arse. Cameron will announce this morning that he is temporarily shelving Spivsley's lunatic plans to destroy the health service and sell the good remaining bits to his mates.