A leak in my basement
I once knew a man who spent his entire life worrying over what was going to happen to the world tomorrow. Not today, not this afternoon, not over anything that came under anyone’s immediate control, but tomorrow. His argument was that tomorrow is more important than today. But in doing all this, probably well intentioned, worrying he forgot that sometimes what happens today has the most effect over what happens tomorrow, and if we don’t get on with sorting today out, we might not have a tomorrow! And then where will we be? I am reminded of this man as I listen to the Leader of the Opposition.
Diary Entry for Wednesday 22nd August, more or less.
I have a leak in my basement, it appears. Not one a plumber might have much effect on, or even a Welshman. It is more along the lines of having a mole, assuming a mole can leak, of course. It seems that certain information has gotten out of this household about a few cherished ideas we have been putting around the green. The flighty Mrs. Pigeon [sic] has had course to worry about the state of our local cottage hospital. The government has been talking about reviewing the structure of much of our health service and Mrs. Pigeon who’s aged father, Woodrow, is a more or less permanent custodian of one of the only two geriatric beds, is fearful that she may have to once again contend with his twittering around the house as the number of beds is cut in half.
{mosimage} To put her mind at rest I did some research into the nature of the reviews and how they may effect us. My preliminary findings were that the geriatric beds were safe, but maternity services were going to be drastically affected. To wit, the local midwife was going to be given every other Tuesday morning off to get her perm re-concreted.
This information I duly conveyed to Mrs. Pigeon to put her mind at rest. Of course, I had forgotten that Mr.s Pigeon’s daughter Ocean, the unfortunate wife of Harold Liner, had of recent been diagnosed with the pregnancy disease. Well, as you can imagine, the cut in maternity services flew [sic] round the green in no time. And quite right too. So what has this to do with my leaking basement?
Well, to be truthful, on the day that I did my research I was a trifle short of time, and had to limit my digging to a conversation on the omnibus with the driver who is the second cousin of the wife of a man who knows the husband of the woman who cleans for the under-secretary of health in the local health department for Nottinghamshire – which after all is not a million miles from here. Or at least it does share a “shire” at the end of it’s name.
Well, I fear not was at all well [sic] with the director of our cottage hospital who felt he had to give up his lunch to make a proclamation to the effect that although it was true that the midwife was getting every second Tuesday afternoon off, she was replacing this with an additional Saturday morning surgery for which there had been much demand from the very group of young mother’s to be who were complaining about the cut.
Poor Mrs. Pigeon was shot [sic] down in her prime and wanted to know how I got it so wrong. I defended my position by pointing out this was based on the governments own review policy and I would therefore stand by it. Unfortunately, the truth leaked out – via my basement.
This sort of episode cannot help one’s reputation, even though I really was very well meant in what I said. But it does illustrate a point. Mr Cameron, the leader of the opposition, is making all kinds of noises about all kinds of things in public and in doing so saying, “It is alright, I will sort out all this rapidly worsening mess when I get into Downing Street in the next 2 or 3 years, or so.”
But, if he is really right about our hospitals, about crime, about everything else, and if it really is so terrifyingly important to sort all this out at the soonest opportunity, isn’t 2 or 3 years rather a long way away?
He should do what I should have done:
a) Phoned the director of the hospital and checked the facts
b) Helped sort out the problem if there was one, and shut up if there wasn’t.
Tomorrows are fine, you see, but they won’t happen till tomorrow!
Nobody
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