Thanks for the kind words by the way. Don’t think there’s any other better compliment than the one coming from a writer

A couple of months ago my auntie was diagnosed with swine flu in the UK, she has two children around the age of puberty and my grandmother is resident at an old peoples home. Needless to say it scared the shit out of me and I told her to stay the hell away from everyone (except my uncle, he’s a dick, but that’s another story).

Anyway, the doctors just told her to stay in bed and, yes, take paracetamol and drink lemon tea. After the pandemic scares, the tamiflu shortages and people dying here and there (sudden respiratory failure being a risk for asthma sufferers – we have asthma in my family) it does seem a lame and irrational response from our medical caretakers. The bastards.

So my auntie got better and a billion vials of stockpiled tamiflu gathered dust as the pharmacutical industry laughed like cruel jackals tearing the unborn baby from a poor mothers womb.

We’d be better off going to a pig farmer for treatment of our swine flu than a GP. It took me almost two years of complaining to mine about a pain in my knee caused by work before he sent me for an MRI (my doctor – not the pig farmer) and guess what – massive bad shit in the meniscus. Cheers, Dr Dane. So I had an operation, that didn’t work. So I had another operation, and during all this, for recovery and building muscular support, I was told to use an exercise bike. So I did.

Pain didn’t leave, went to a physiotherapist, I told her the story and she screwed her face up. I shouldn’t be using an exercise bike – that’s bad for the knee… The hospital nearly didn’t give me crutches after the op.

So the moral of this story is that these fuckers are hopelessly incompetent. When we trust one person to take care of every possible ailment, pain and virus they can’t help but fuck up. That’s why God created specialists. Like in our shitty education, I’ll be coming out knowing a little bit about a lot of things and heading out to tell people these things I know as if they were gospel. Now if I fuck up with the code of a website a bunch of people won’t form a coven and burn themselves out of fear of catching aids from squirrels but when Dr Dane fondles my sweaty balls and sticks that nasty plastic thing up my arse and tells me to cough, well, I’m gonna take his word for it.

Sorry for rambling, I’m a bit poorly you see. Nice blog by the way – you’re like a Romanian Nabakov (Yes, because of Lolita but not because it’s about paedophilia, because he wrote it in English – his second language.)

Get well soon.

And with all of that I still totally agree that there is something very wrong with Danish idea of health care. And not only…