I’m staying at my mother-in-law’s, deep in the Vale of York. The countryside is lovely, but there is a problem - I cannot access the internet.
There is an ‘internet hole’ in the atmosphere here. Eventually I end up balanced on the chest of draws in the spare room, holding the laptop out of the window. Since my husband has banned newspapers during our sojourn and the TV is constantly tuned to CBBC, this is the only way I can get news of the outside world.
Thus it is that I find out from The Guardian website what life will be like under the next Tory government. A Ryanair flight to Malaga lasting five years.
My snorts of disbelief distract the rest of the family, who have moved on from The Ooglies to Grandma’s DVD collection. I explain that while they are watching repeats of the Vicar of Dibley, plans are afoot to run the country like a ‘no frills’ budget airline. Even the NHS, apparently, is destined for the makeover. My husband rolls his eyes at me, as I spend the entire Christmas episode trying to explain to his mother what a budget airline is. Afterwards she is obviously none the wiser and I am a bit confused myself.
Although a life-long Tory voter, my mother-in-law is hazy on their policy detail, as her only source of information is the Knaresborough Post. The NHS, however, is one thing she does understand.
Her latest experience was last year when she fell over one of the cats, breaking her hip. She was taken to the local hospital and underwent surgery the following morning. She was most impressed by the surgeon, a “charming young man in a lovely suit” who came to visit her before the operation.
Post-op she shared a room with three other women with whom she maintained a ceaseless flow of conversation, including during our visits, except when she was enquiring after the cats. She was back home in a week, with appropriate support from social services and her excellent GP.
What would this experience have been like with the budget airline treatment? I’m sure her room could have squeezed in two more ‘budget’ patients, leaving next door nicely spacious for someone paying extra. A 4am theatre slot, perhaps, would be the no frills option, leaving daylight hours for the more affluent. £50 would buy a pre-op visit from the surgeon, and perhaps the same again for the anaesthetist. Food would be available but only if you’ve remembered your credit card.
It goes without saying that social services would be a major ‘extra’ - and I’m sure GP home-visits could be classified as a luxury which only people paying extra would be entitled to.
My mother-in-law, who lives on a small fixed income, was unimpressed, although sadly I’m not sure that the Eton boys have actually lost her vote. And imagine what it would be like working in a budget hospital. What wonderful, heart-warming organisations they would be.
Cheap, certainly, but anything but cheerful. After my last budget airline flight I swore that if they were the last airline on earth I would start walking. Unfortunately, that isn’t really an option if you’re sick.
For an alternative view on ‘an economy’ health service read Paul Thorpe.
Tags: Funding
