The Curmudgeon

YOU'LL COME FOR THE CURSES. YOU'LL STAY FOR THE MUDGEONRY.

Tuesday, October 08, 2019

We Didn't Win the War by Getting Depressed, You Know

Given that the Continent's determination to cut itself off from the mainland may cause the supply of medication coming over the Channel to undergo a slight interruption, Her Majesty's Government is naturally making due provision for the health of deserving Britons. Mental health is a matter of particular interest because it is all in the mind, so that successive governments have found it encouragingly easy to diagnose, treat and cure; and in today's atmosphere of compulsory optimism, aggressive pluck enforcement and ever more rigorous rah-rah, mental health problems are a natural source of guinea pigs for the latest variation in the perennial political cure-all that is Buck Up and Get a Job. Accordingly, the Department of Workfare and Privation in Poole has come up with a sophisticated practical programme for the management of severe and enduring mental health conditions, namely ordering the shirkers and scroungers to play down their little megrims and not use too many long words. A spokesbeing was duly extruded to dismiss the idea as "well-intentioned" and therefore rapidly withdrawn; but similar instructions on compiling a pluckier CV have been circulated by the delightfully-named Dorset Community Pain Service and will doubtless continue to be circulated until they become normalised, after which Britons will presumably be ready for instructions on successfully hiding their irrational urges towards weekends, paid holidays, lunch hours and bathroom breaks.

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