Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.

68 years ago, shortly after I was born, the world did not look too dissimilar to today.

Europe was full of displaced foreigners, many living in barely sanitary camps, fighting a daily battle for survival.

Britain, in particular, had received large numbers of these 'foreigners' who were viewed with great suspicion. They were seen as taking away the jobs of returning servicemen; of being a burden on the state; the children as 'swamping local schools'.

There was a shortage of Doctors and Nurses, hospitals were under resourced; the war years had left a nation bedevilled by disease, ignorance and squalor.

We even had the requisite hate media figures - instead of Lord and Lady Green, we had Lord and Lady Docker with their gold plated Daimlers with zebra skin interiors, swanning around Monaco.

Surprisingly, given that many of my generation believe that we fought the war against the Nazi's because of the horrors of the Holocaust - there was a lively seam of anti-semitism …

She walked here, she walked!

Those of you who were regular readers of my old blog, now sadly defunct, may remember that I once wrote of a small village the other side of the river from me. You can still retrieve the article here, and read it again if you wish. 
It was one of my more whimsical pieces. Some days I would wake early and lacerate some hapless politician - some days I would gaze out of the window onto the water meadows opposite and try to describe what I saw. 
I have never been able to 'write to order' - I would have made a hopeless journalist. I don't have much imagination - I would have starved to death as a novelist. For me, writing was a way of emptying my mind of whatever had invaded it in the early hours. It allowed me to get on with the rest of the day. I did have the occasional pang of sympathy for my poor readers, they never knew what to expect. Still, it was my blog, so I just went on doing it, and they went on reading it....
Anyway, rambling as usual. In that piece I linked to a…

Background information as to why I am running this campaign.

Now, through the fog of medication, I will try to explain why I am doing what I am doing. 
I have in front of me the UKIP 'Policy' on the NHS
It sounds OK: UKIP pledges an additional £3 billion more for the NHS every year; an affordable sum paid for ultimately by the savings we will make from leaving the European Union, but in the shorter term from other savings we will identify within our manifesto. We will insist this money goes into frontline resources, yes that’s real doctors, nurses and care, not middle management or expensive spin doctors. Isn't that wonderful - an additional £3 Billion a year!  It is a drop in the ocean if only we could unlock that £56 Billion set aside for the lawyers and their clients to sue the NHS over incidents such as I encountered. 
If the NHS was a money making organisation, you could argue that when they provide poor service they shoud rightfully loose some of those profits making restitution to those they have delivered poor service to.…

Stop suing the NHS!

I was intending to write a scintillating blog post today to show you all that I am still the 'old' me - but the panic over the non-arrival of the Ketamine, which is the only barrier between me and pain, rather overtook events. 
So, since it has been a highly successful day - the deposit raised, a superb and experienced agent found who is more than happy to act for me, and I am overwhelmed by the support that has been shown to me, I am going to cheat and reprint something I wrote a week ago, which may help to explain why I am so determined to publicise this obscene situation of the NHS being skinned alive for money. 
"I was moved from home to hospice the night before Mothering Sunday. Given that my two children, who were adopted 50 years ago, had only made contact with me a few weeks beforehand, Mothering Sunday held a special significance for me, and falling sick again was the last thing I wanted to happen. 
Sadly, Mr G was forced to call an ambulance to take me to the hos…
Last Sunday, Old Holborn gave up his day off to help me set up some new technology in my kitchen, including a Twitter account, on which I could continue to campaign regarding the obscene sum of money that NHS Litigation Fund is currently having to hold in reserve against future claims. That figure now stands at 56 billion pounds.

As I had closed both my blog, my e-mail account, and my Twitter feed - he had tremendous problems merely getting me signed in Google Chrome. Halfway through the process, I found an old password which appeared to relate to something or other. He tried it. It led him straight to the LettucePrey101 Twitter feed.

LettucePrey101 was an account I had set up some years before hand in order to infiltrate a group of trolls that I suspected were behind the constant hacking and interference with my blog. I need hardly add that some of the tweets I had sent out from that blog were anything but complimentary towards the Savile family. I was tryin…