There was a hushed silence in the Moaning Cow public house as Mr. Angry, sipping his third pint of strong lager, told an audience of his adoring fans that he is dying.
“Friends” he began in hushed tones “I must inform you that my doctor has identified me as somebody who will die in the next year. It’s in this letter here.”
Mr. Angry was referring to the announcement this week made by the Liberal-Democrats, that GPs must select one in every hundred patients who are likely to die in the next year. They will receive special ‘end-of-life’ care. They will be able to say where they want to die and they can draw up a living will which instructs the doctors to withdraw life saving treatment if they become incapacitated in hospital.
“I knew” continued Mr. Angry “that my health has not been so good. Only yesterday I could barely manage thirty six holes of golf.”
“When are you going?” asked a man playing the fruit machine.
“Soon” said Mr. Angry in a tearful voice.
“Can you pay your bar bill before you die” asked Rita the barmaid.
“What worries me is that I might set a bad example to all those entrepreneurs trying to build their fortunes. It is obvious that hard work has killed me.”
“But you’ve been off work for ten years Mr. Angry” yelled a fan.
“I’ve been a little unlucky and now I am to be called.”
“You were saying Mr. Angry” said another disciple “that you’ve had a holiday in every Mediterranean country.”
“The doctors felt they would help me.”
“Mr. Angry. Mr. Angry. Mrs. Angry is on the phone. The surgery has just phoned. They’ve sent the wrong letter. You should have the one that said you’re number one on the investigation list into fraudulent claims. Apparently….”
“Mr. Angry, where are you going….” asked Rita.