The night before last, the Section 75 Regulations slipped through The Lords like a U-boat, silent and deep. A limpet mine attached to the hull by one Lord Hunt failed to go off, and the boat got through unscathed. The crew even found time to loose off a few tin fish at 38 Degrees, but, on the whole, anyone watching the surface of events would have seen nothing remarkable. Certainly the BBC saw nothing remarkable, and reported nothing. The recent Reynolds analogy, that if the Health and Social Care Act was an aeroplane, then the regulations were the engines that would enable it to fly, failed to take off, leaving no scope for engines on fire, or jumbo-jets falling out of the sky. The health service revolution said to be so large it can be seen from space is all but invisible on earth. There has been no bang, not even a whimper, just the night time passage, silent and deep, of some regulations through the Lords. Nothing has changed – except that the U-boat is now on the inside, torpedoes armed and periscope at the ready. The lumbering ships of the health service convoy still steam across the healthcare seas, unaware of the peril that now lurks in the deeps.
Dr Max Pemberton – Apology
GMC Statement – For Immediate Release
22 Apr 2013
Earlier this morning, Count Rubin (not his real name) appeared on the Today programme opposite Dr Max Pemberton (not his real name), defending the General Medical Council’s decision to implement new guidance requiring doctors who use social media to reveal their identities.
By appearing alongside Dr Pemberton, and not challenging Dr Pemberton’s identity, Count Rubin gave the impression that the Council knew who the real Dr Pemberton was, had got his number, and furthermore the Council knew where he lived.
One of the more noisome phrases in the air today is ‘one should not speak ill of the dead’. The sentiment, both spoken and unspoken, is everywhere, and the dead we should not speak ill of is of course Mrs Hacksaw, the Iron Lady who famously decreed and then ensured ‘there is no such thing as society’. But we shall not speak ill of the dead. Labour leaders stand as pupils before Miss Jean Brodie, the better not to speak ill of the dead. In the Today coven, Humph and Jimbo cackle away at each other, reminiscing about conviction politicians. No, we shall not speak ill of the dead, oh no. April is the cruellest month. Mistress Thatch – she dead! wail the hollow men, heads filled with deathiquette. De mortuis nihil nisi bonum. And yet, between the desire and the spasm, between the potency and the existence, between the essence and the descent, falls the shadow. But we shall not speak of the shadow, oh no: de mortuis nihil nisi bonum.