Chris Whitty is causing his own pandemic across the UK- DEPRESSION!

Tom Penn writes at:

www.neoconscription.wordpress.com 

Chris Whitty is the most depressed man in England. Speaking at the Royal College of GP’s annual conference on Thursday (October 14), he once again regurgitated more doom-laden prophesies for the coming autumn and winter, determined it seems to re-categorise the cold season: Spring, Summer, and then Death.

‘I regret to say (winter) is going to be exceptionally difficult for the NHS. That is, irrespective of whether we have a relatively low but non trivial amount of Covid, or whether we actually have a further surge’.

Is this to be the new pattern from henceforth: annual pre-winter fear-forecasts over nevertheless welcomingly low levels of Covid-19?

Let me tell you what the livers and lovers of life among us hear Professor Whitty, that is, those of us not entombed in your coffin of hysteria – ‘Despite having informed the nation that they must learn to live alongside SARS-CoV-2, they must continue to pursue a zero-Covid strategy by stealth; so that the fear generated may be utilised as a vehicle for the introduction of universal health passports. I shall continue to dodge the matters of an inefficacious vaccine, our under resourced health service, and its unprecedented backlog of vulnerable patients, as Britain’s place in the post-Covid international order is of far greater importance than the wellbeing of its actual citizens.’

The Chief Medical Officer is inching ahead of even Professor Neil Ferguson with his wildly gloomy projections, and appears to be suffering from some acute form of bent spine syndrome, so incapable is he of looking anywhere other than down into the abyss. If only somebody would sledgehammer him straight he might finally see the clear sky of pragmatic solutions above.

‘I think if you asked 100 modellers you’re going to get over 100 answers, exactly as to how this (winter) is going to go.’

Professor Whitty, perhaps then it is time to stop modelling and start investing in humanity. We the people are exactly that: people. We are not binary code, although I suspect that is what you dearly wish us to be based upon your new sub-Office’s inaugural attempt to tackle the mental health crisis you yourself have manufactured, with their infantile wellbeing widget. 

According to The Telegraph 300 people a day are going to A&E with depression, unable to access GP services, but that didn’t stop Whitty’s bent-double, suicidal tone at the conference: ‘I wish I could claim that it’ll be fantastic by Christmas, but sadly, I’m afraid that is not the case’, so ruthlessly is he attempting to make us all crackers.

It appears that Physician to the nation Professor Whitty has a phobia rare amongst those of his profession: a fear of death, and hence a disdain for risk, an integral part of life.

To have a healthy relationship with death is to have understood the frailty of existence and embraced whatever precious time it affords in the pursuit of rapture, interconnectivity and authenticity.

At present, Whitty et al are doing all within their power to prohibit, tarnish or erase altogether the simple pleasures of life with their scorched earth Covid-19 agenda. They are fanatically sucking the enchantment out of existence, for those who understand its fleeting nature at least, and could not be more vampyric if they tried.

After 20 months in the shadow of their engineered poltergeist of an emergency, the suitably terrified psyche of the nation now transposes the hand of death onto all it perceives. Even doctors and frontline healthcare staff have succumbed: all having falling under the spell of Whitty’s phobia of the finite.

So focused is he on making life joyless to the paradoxical point of there being no separation between it and the death he so fears – in what can only be a protective coping strategy of sorts – that even his Agency’s Covid-19 guidance formulated for the departed reads as if it were the very same for the living.

According to the recently updated ‘Guidance for care of the deceased with suspected or confirmed coronavirus’, the dead are to be treated not as departed beloved whose lives are to be mourned, celebrated and then utilised as catalysts for spiritual growth, but quite literally as pox spreading zombies, the memories of whom shall be forever blackened by protocol born of Whitty’s terror of the afterlife.

The general public, or family members, who come across a person who has died, including a loved one, are advised to not touch the deceased, move two metres away or to another room and if indoors, open all the windows. In Whitty’s dark world he therefore believes that a father who comes across his daughter prone and unresponsive in her bedroom should not even investigate to see if she still has a pulse and if so administer potentially lifesaving CPR. He is to back away, suppress his instincts, and open all the windows as if she were a bad odour: his last perception of her, a  health threat to himself.

First Responders, on entering the home should wash their hands for 20 seconds, advise others to keep away from the room, stay at least two metres away from household members (‘who may be in their self-isolation or quarantine Period’), and open all windows if not already open: all valuable time lost, as a person potentially still alive breathes their last.

‘Placing a barrier, such as a cloth or mask, over the mouth of the deceased when moving them may prevent the release of droplets from the respiratory tract.’ Even the dead must wear masks in Britain.

Not content with dragging us all into his distaste for life, Whitty wants to ensure that any who depart from it are remembered as Covid victims regardless of how they expired, so all encompassing has the fear campaign become.

Professor Whitty, the livers and lovers of life shall continue to rush to the sides of their loved ones during their final moments in your rotten world, and shall attempt a resurrection even if they have clearly departed; showering them with kisses once the reality of their expiry dawns.

If there is any window to be opened, it shall be to purge the home of the stench of your suicidal doctrine; a contributing factor in the premature snuffing out of beautiful young lives. 

I pray that one day, so too may you be flung out.