Nik Nak (roobeedoo’s delightful name for Nisakiman) got out of hospital yesterday. I spoke to him at his daughter’s home. The way he described it, it was like he’d been released from prison. It had been driving him mad, being inside that faceless institution. So much so that he felt he had to recuperate simply from being there, never mind any malady he might have.
I hate hospitals. I’ve only ever spent a single night inside one, and I didn’t much like that. It’s not just their poisonous smoking bans that are now leaking out not just into the grounds of the hospitals, but into the streets beyond. I hate the architecture as well, with all the bland beige walls and floors, that are increasingly devoid of any humanity at all.
The way I see them, they’re like gigantic sharks. Once you’re inside them, you’re lucky if you ever get out. I can well imagine that lots of people go into them with something as minor as a cut finger, and end up with MRSA, or Ebola, or ‘flu, and come out in a box. In fact, I can imagine people going to visit relatives in them, bringing flowers and chocolates (I somehow suspect that flowers and chocolates are as banned as cigarettes inside hospitals these days), and ending up in the same ward, with one of their legs amputated or something.
I hate doctors too. I haven’t visited one for over 10 years. For all I know, if they ever ran any tests on me, they’d diagnose me as having COPD, rabies, and terminal chronic malaria. I’m sure they’d find something. Because they’re always looking for something. And they’ve got names for everything. Malaria. Bronchitis. PTSD. Pneumonia. Names that are almost diseases in themselves.
I think the main thing that gets me about doctors (that I’ve written about before) is that, in the past you went to see them because you thought you were ill, and now you’re supposed to go and see them because they think you might be ill. They run all these tests on people’s blood sugar and blood pressure and stuff, and then tell them that they’ve got a bad case of umphalumphitis. They’ve become the people who decide who’s ill and who isn’t. The patient no longer has a say. And increasingly they seem to be deciding that everybody’s unwell. Just being ‘overweight’ or ‘underweight’ is now just about as bad as having typhoid or cholera. And they see smoking and drinking as ‘epidemics’, of course. The more senior the doctor, as far as I can see, the more barking mad they’re likely to be.
My view is that I will decide whether I’m ill or not, because it’s my life and I’m the one living and experiencing it,, not them. And I have detailed inside knowledge of me of a kind that they’ll never have, even with all their thermometers and pressure gauges and needles. For them, I’m a foreign country that they can’t enter. They can only stand on the border, and look in using telescopes. Or hope for reliable reports emanating from the interior.
If I’d been Nik Nak, and been told I had diseases X, Y2, and Z3b, I’d probably not have believed them. Why should I believe them? Why should I believe anyone? We’re living in a world of fake news these days. And the medical profession is one of the biggest purveyors of it. We’re living in a world on the brink of being one in which nobody believes any authorities or experts or scientists about anything any more.
And increasingly I don’t trust anyone. I don’t trust the BBC. I don’t trust the government. I don’t trust Theresa May. I don’t trust Boris Johnson. Soon I think I may stop trusting Donald Trump, like Ann Coulter seems to have done, months after writing a book called In Trump We Trust.
Oh, and I don’t trust the Pope. Or Jean-Claude Juncker. Or Robert De Niro. Or Hillary Clinton (I never did trust her anyway). Or Woody Allen. Or Miles Mathis. Or Paul Krugman. Or Paul Volcker. Or Alan Greenspan. Or Ben Bernanke. Or Janet Yellen. Or Bitcoin. Or Google. Or Facebook. Or Amazon. Or the Democratic Party. Or the Republican Party. Or the Conservative Party. Or the Labour Party. Or the Liberal Democratic Party. Or the Royal Society of Physicians. Or the British Medical Association. Or the WHO. Or Greenpeace. Or Friends of the Earth. Or Oxfam. Or the United Nations. Or Brian May. Or Peter Gabriel. Or NASA. Or MI5. Or GCHQ. Or the CIA,. Or the NSA. Or the FBI. Or the DEA. Or any 3-letter ‘intelligence’ agency, for that matter. Or Microsoft. Or Oracle. Or IBM. Or Big Pharma. Or the Rockefeller Foundation. Or the Robert Woods Johnson Foundation. Or Freud. Or Karl Marx. Or Darwin.
I could fill the page with people and organisations I don’t trust. And I’d be hard pressed to fill a line or two with people or organisations I still do trust. Do I trust Alex Jones? Not really. Jerome Corsi? Not really. Michael Savage? Nope. Nigel Farage? Barely.
I thinking we’re heading into a world in which all authority has gone, and in which people only trust themselves and their own eyes.
I got listening last night to somebody I’d never heard of before called David Berlinski, talking about Darwinism:
He’s a mathematician and philosopher. And he was sceptical about Darwinism. And also about Richard Dawkins (who should have been on my list above) and Daniel Dennett (who should also have been on the list). I suppose I found it refreshing because I don’t like Darwin and Dawkins and Dennett much either, but for different reasons than Berlinski. I believe in evolution – just not Darwin’s idea of evolution. And maybe I’ll stop believing in evolution one day.
Anyway, I think Nik Nak is to be highly commended for simply having managed to get out of that damn hospital alive. I’m hoping to visit him next week in the company of Twentyrothmans, who’ll be bringing some potent single malt whisky. I’m thinking of bringing a few cigars. In my experience, a judicious combination of alcohol and tobacco can cure more or less anything.
And after that, I hope he’ll be on his way back to Greece, and sunshine, and ouzo, and carpentry, and those wonderful Greek doctors who just give you a couple of vitamin pills and cheerily tell you to get on with your life.