Over brekie I watched
more of the adventures of Reggie Perrin. Today he was having
hanky-panky willy-nilly. CJ wasn't impressed - he didn't get where he
was thirty-odd years ago by having hanky-panky willy-nilly.
Whilst still eminently
amusing over an early brekkie, the show has lost a certain something
with the pasage of time.
Off to work. As I drove I
listened to the radio. I always do so ; the reception is usually
terrible, and most of what I can make out through the crackling boils
my piss. But if I don't listen to it I end up so out of touch with
reality.
There are those who
wouldn't see that as a bad thing...
Sir John Major has added
his voice to the "Vote No" campaign about Scottish
independence. He's talking sense. Why on Earth would any Scot vote
for independence? Misplaced arrogant pride and incomprehensible
hatred of the English would be the only reasons that I can see. And
the really daft thing is that having given the two-fingers to the
rest of the United Kingdom, it's no secret that the first thing an
independent Scotland would do would be to submit itself to whatever
terms the European Union might dictate so Scotland could retain EU
membership. Where is the logic in that?
And the NHS is under
financial pressure again. Apparently with a projected overspend
of two billion pounds the pundits are up in arms about waste and
savings.
Well here's one way to
cut the shortfall. According
to official figures missed appointments are a serious problem in
the health service. Twelve million GP appointments were missed last
year. If I miss a dental appointment I am billed for it. Why not let
the same happen with GP appointments? Charging the pundits twenty
five oncers a go for each missed appointment (and that's cheap!)
would raise three hundred million quid every year.
And nearly seven million
hospital outpatient appointments are also missed. According to the
same official figures each of those missed appointments costs the
system (i.e. the taxpayer) just over one hundred quid. Why
should we pay? Billing those who don't show up would raise seven
hundred and forty five million pounds on an annual basis.
There's one billion of
the shortfall found, and it only took me five minutes to work it out.
Only another billion pounds to find... I'll leave that to the
so-called experts.
There was a minor
catastrophe with my lunchtime saxophone practice; my music stand has
broken. The screw adjuster on the bottom section has gone squafty. At
the moment I am able to bodge it in place; but I can't say I'm
impressed with the thing. I spent twenty quid on it and it's only
lasted a couple of months.
And so home again. I took
"Furry Face TM" for a walk; I only
wish I'd remembered to change my pants first. The elastic had gone in
them earlier in the day which hadn't made for the most comfortable of
days, and certainly didn't make for the most comfortable of walks.
Supervising a recalcitrant Patagonian Tripe-Hound is tricky enough at
the best of times; it is positively hard work when one's
undercrackers are randomly diving south at every opportunity.
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