The dire condition into which my country has fallen – what or whomever you wish to blame for it: Covid, Russia, Brexit, the Conservative government, earlier Labour governments, the decline of capitalism, the loss of the Empire, the Public schools, trade unions, workshy workers, immigrants, Boris, Liz, Rishi, or just bad luck – can hardly be said to have affected me personally: except in one way. Our once great National Health Service – underfunded, and understaffed since Brexit took our European nurses and doctors away – seems to be on its last legs, due for the knacker’s yard before very long; so that now we all have to suffer, die or ‘go private’ (which of course is what the Conservatives want) when we’re poorly, rather than being looked after socially, which should be the norm in any civilised state. And just when I – personally – need it most.

Just look at these figures, put out by the British Medical Association, no less (https://www.bma.org.uk/advice-and-support/nhs-delivery-and-workforce/pressures/nhs-backlog-data-analysis). A ‘record high’ hospital waiting list of 7.77 million appointments, consisting of approximately 6.5 million individual patients waiting for treatment; nearly 3.29 million of them waiting over 18 weeks, and around 391,000 waiting for over a year. It so happens that I represent three of those patients, still waiting to be examined and treated for three different medical conditions (I’m not telling you what they are), and without any definite appointments for any of them. My doctor’s surgery, which used to be fine, is now struggling under the strain. My son Ben (bless him) has offered to pay for me to go private: that would get me into hospital and into the hands of a money-minded doctor within a few days; but he’s aware of, and clearly respects, my prejudice against that.

I might have given in regardless – I’m really not in very good nick just now – if it weren’t for another card I have up my sleeve; which is my joint Swedish citizenship (taken out, you may recall, after the Brexit referendum), which will enable me to be treated in Stockholm. In fact I’m off back there, and to my excellent svensk läkare Sara, in a couple of weeks’ time. She, and the Swedish health system, should put me right.

But of course I’m lucky, far more privileged than most of my British semi-compatriots in this regard. Few of them can escape abroad. Nonetheless, the abject decline of our NHS has a wider significance than just for me. I was always immensely proud of it: patriotically, you might say. Now it’s under siege by the Goths and Vandals: aka the ‘neo-liberals’, or ‘Thatcherites’. When the NHS has finally gone, there will be very little left to attach me emotionally to my country of birth. I may stay in Sweden; at least until the next election. Will a Labour government under Keir Starmer bring our beloved NHS back to us? It was originally Labour’s creation, after all. Or will it be too late?