Well, well — free health MoTs for the middle-aged that cost the taxpayer £165 million a year turned out to be useless. Yes, almost a total waste of money it seems, so you lowered your trousers for nothing. Only one in five people bothers attending the NHS tests — the medical equivalent, I imagine, of checking the oil on a Mark II Escort — and of those who did hardly anyone cut their risk of disease.
GPs say that they always knew it would be so and that time is better spent on treating the actual sick, but they’re only doctors so what do they know?
Wait a minute, though — what free health checks? It says here that “if you’re in the 40-74 age group without a pre-existing condition”, which I am, “you can expect to receive a letter from your GP or local authority” inviting you for an appointment.
I’ve received zilch, which is quite hurtful although not unusual. (I’m often “NFI”. I’ve never been polled by YouGov or Ipsos Mori even though I’d be delighted to tell them how I’m voting. I’ve never been asked for jury service though I’ve been gagging for it since age ten. Canvassers never seek my opinion despite me hovering hopefully around people with clipboards.)
To be honest, even if I did get invited to a health MoT I probably wouldn’t go. Through work I’ve been entitled to a posh private health check every year for the past two decades and how many times have I attended? Twice — and one of those occasions was for a health article.
Advertisement
It just feels a bit “worried well”, sitting in a robe having someone check your BMI and advise you — and I quote from my last glossy report — to aim for a “maximum of 2-3 cups of tea a day”. I ask you — is this a good use of a clinic’s time?
As I was being talked through my hearing, sight and waist-height ratio stats all I could think was: “Yes, yes but what about my liver? Has alcohol turned it into a big bloaty football?” (It’s what most people ask, apparently.) Once I learnt that the results were fine it gave me licence to celebrate that night in the pub, which I very much doubt was the intended effect.
It’s easy to knock the NHS but this scheme clearly meant well, hoping to nip health problems in the bud. Yet it seems a classic case of spending without gain. To prevent one heart attack or stroke 4,762 people need to be seen. Those who tend to turn up for such checks are probably the most health-aware and least in need of them, just as those who go online to fill in the NHS health survey are unlikely to be chain-smoking pizza addicts with reinforced beds.
For the record, after checking the glossy report of my health check, I can’t actually recall a point when I was asked to lower my trousers. Maybe I’m confusing it with something else. Please don’t let that be the reason not to go. But I won’t be panting in anticipation of my letter (even though, as I say, it’s always nice to be asked). I’ll carry on hoping that what a medical person once told me, and whom I quote often, is true. If you feel OK, you probably are.
Nasty spell for Nicky Morgan
Spare a thought for a poor civil servant, who must feel as popular in the office as a turd in a punchbowl.
Advertisement
The unnamed public worker sent a letter on behalf of the education secretary, Nicky Morgan, in reply to a teacher who was concerned about changes to the testing of writing and spelling at Key Stage 2. Thousands of parents protested over the issue yesterday.
The letter made “no apology” for setting high standards — while sadly containing five grammatical errors. These included a missing full stop, a superfluous comma and an unnecessary apostrophe at the end of the word “teachers”.
What do we reckon — B minus plus no play time? Happily there’s a positive side because the teacher says she’ll use the letter to teach her pupils how not to write. It’s also a splendid introduction to the meaning of irony.
Where you shouldn’t breastfeed
I’m all for mothers being able to breastfeed in public but reading about the case of Abbie Stocker, who is suing her local leisure centre in Nelson, Lancashire, after being asked not to feed her baby in the wave pool, has left me needing a lie down.
If I had to draw up a list of the last places I’d want to feed a baby, a hideous wave pool would be near the top. At Center Parcs the wave pool is easily my least favourite thing. Apart from being quite violently unpleasant their only point seems to be to make you swallow eight pints of child urine in 60 seconds.
Advertisement
The staff claim that they feared the baby might vomit or be hit with a wave. Quite. Not to mention ingest a lunch of chlorine, wee and pubic hair. On balance I’d rather breastfeed on a bucking bull.
