THE nanny state’s latest idea? That its citizens are so helpless they need assistance even to die. Well, I can die perfectly well on my own, thank you very much.
Whether it’s peacefully in bed, under the wheels of a train or with a needle hanging out of my arm in a squalid Glasgow bedsit, the last thing I need is a busybody social worker coming in telling me I’m doing it wrong.
‘Have you considered dying more ethically?’ she’ll say, armed with her degree in Expiration Studies from the University of Sunderland. ‘Can I talk to you for a moment about the impact your death will have on the ethnic minority community?’
I suppose it was inevitable. The self-important busybodies running our country decided we couldn’t feed ourselves properly, couldn’t be trusted to build our own kitchen extensions and were not allowed disposable vapes. Now they’re interfering in our dying.
It’s insulting. My family has been dying for longer than I can remember. My father died, and his father before him, and so on all the way back to the English Reformation. Were they dying incorrectly? Are apologies required?
Vote what you like today. I shall ignore it. I shall die however I choose, whether on a wild swim gone badly awry, a firearms accident or simply choking on a chicken goujon. It will remain my decision and the nanny state can keep its nose out of it.
In fact, I might die before Parliament has this vote to teach them they can’t push us around. What do you think of that, Kim so-called Leadbeater?
Because that is the only place of true freedom under this despotic Labour government: the sunless lands from which no traveller returns. I’ll see you there, Britain.
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