COCAINE & HEALTH: LABOUR’S 10 YEAR PLAN

WORDS: SAMUEL WEAVER

Labour’s Plan for the NHS published 3 July 2025 promised to bring change that was ‘rapid and urgent’. Madness explores how the report offered nothing but hollow, 3am, coked-up-in-the-kitchen dreams of tomorrow. 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck. KEIR - fuck did this prick want now. It was Stuart, the silly fucking SPAD I’d brought in to Number 10 to sweeten shit with Lucy - another fucking northerner. KEIR - DON’T PANIC - BUT THAT REPORT - IT’S DUE TOMORROW, WELL, TECHNICALLY TODAY - holy fucking shit. I looked around the lofty kitchen, hearing the pitter patter pitter patter of Victoria and the kids upstairs - another fucking bed time missed, another argument tomorrow, KillYourSelfFM was going to be the only thing playing in my mind in the morning - well, later in the morning. OKAY STUART FUCK OKAY, LET’S JUST FUCKING DO IT. Stuart knew what I meant, calling up the chaps from upstairs, Reevesey from next door, SPAD 1, SPAD 2, SPAD 3, so many fucking friends, so many favours, who the fuck were all these people and why did I always need them in my kitchen - KEIR - WE’VE ONLY GOT LIKE 5 HOURS, IT’S GOING TO BE A FUCKING SNIFF ONE yes Stuart, it was always a fucking sniff one when you were here - ERM, OKAY OKAY STUART YOU’RE RIGHT. Almost mechanically, Stuart pulled out a significant quantity of cocaine, put the plate in the microwave - and drew the chairs into a loose circle - HIIIII PRIME MINISTER - TO WHAT DO I OWE THE PLEASURE HAHAHAH fucking Reevesey, always leathered, probably a tonne of vino down the fucking goblet - Stuart told me she’d been lipsing fucking David - DAVID - DAVID DA LAMMY FUCKING LAMBINATOR - in Strangers yesterday evening. I was there, but I was so fucked, Sweeners and I had effectively marooned ourselves in the cubicles, sniffing and creasing until Johnny fucking Mac had intruded, FOCKS GOIN ON ERE LADS, he’d gone SPOSED TO BE RUNNING DA FOCKING CUNTRY, FOCKING SHULD BE ASHAMED OF YOSELVES, the west fucking Scouse cunt. 

RIGHT RIGHT RIGHT COME ON GUYS I was already so wired I couldn’t feel my teeth, Stuart hadn’t even got the good shit out yet RIGHT NHS ENGLAND - OI NADIA, AHH FOR FUCKS SAKE - Nadia, one of Reevesey’s little SPADs was bent over the sink, vomiting incredulously STUART STUART - LESS OF THAT PAL, VICTORIA WILL SORT IN THE MORN DON’T WORRY - what was he playing at, Nadia was tidy, always up for a line, hated the fucking rats, Tories, Palestinians, fucking Scousers - RIGHT RIGHT - I convened - WE HAVE TO GO errr PUBLIC WITH THIS fucking fuck my jaw was tighter than George Osborne FUCK STU FILL THEM IN - as Stuart filled them in, I sniffed another couple of lines, downed my glass - TURN THE MUSIC DOWN WE’RE TRYING TO FUCKING WORK HERE a roar of laughter ensued - Reevesey always tried to sneak Coldplay in the playlist the snide cow. 

Before I knew it we were playing the game again - ChatGPT had already done about 80 pages of the initial fucking draft - I was so fucking high OPPOSITES! OPPOSITES! OPPOSITES! everyone chanted; Tony taught me this - apparently before Alastair quit the fucking booze him Mandy and Tony would get out of their minds and play opposites - one night arguing about escaping the bondage of Old Labour, Mandy has squealed NEW LABOUR - one of the delirious little bundle of fucking chimpjoy’s best contributions to the broader socialist movement. Stuart was sweating fucking bullets, spamming ChatGPT with Reevesey offering nothing but a lighter and a top up, okay okay phew - we were getting there. OI KEIR JUST BEFORE WE DO ANYTHING ELSE HAVE YOU CALLED CAROLINE FROM THE MIRROR - hell fucking no. I chopped another line and angrily glared at the northern gimp - YOU CALL HER MATE - MISS WATERSTON’S GOT A THING FOR FUCKING PRICKS LIKE YOU cue a further roar of laughter - Stuart fucked off to let the Mirror know just what was coming in three hours - OI KEIR - HOW LONG IS THIS PLAN AGAIN? Another fucking question - do these pricks not know how to do anything for their fucking selves - ERM fuck it, let’s stick it to the Stalinists, the courgette growing Hamas-praising Grammar school attending snide faced knitted jumper doorstep dwelling pricks TEN YEAR PLAN STUART, WE’RE GOING FULL FUCKING BOLSHEVIK. I laughed and noticed the birds in the garden, the tweeting, the fucking tweeting. My mouth was Saharan and my shirt wet through with sweat (Victoria fucking special tomorrow boys!) - as I chewed on my own spit and incinerated Wrigleys Extra RIGHT, LETS FINISH THIS MAN - WHAT HAVE WE GOT SO FAR - Stuart informed me, hand clutching Nadia’s bare thigh firmly, IVE BANGED DARZIS FUCKING REPORT INTO CHAT, ASKED FOR A REPORT sniff, cough, wince, exhale, laugh ABOUT 180 PAGES LONG THAT MEETS THE REQUIREMENTS WITHOUT ANY TRUE FUCKING FISCAL COMMITMENTS NOR TANGIBLE OUTCOMES THAT CAN BE HELD AGAINST US LATER I excitedly leant over to his chair and headlocked the cunt, giving him a noogie of Zionist proportions, THIS IS WHY SWEENERS GOT YOU IN STU FUCK this shit is fucking easy - EASY - easy street here comes The Right Honourable Sir Keir Starmer KCB KC MP.

OKAY GUYS WE JUST NEED TO ADD THE THREE BIG THEMES NOW FUCK - every briefing paper since Disraeli had three key themes, so everyone had fucking done that forever - apparently - I think someone had told me that - OKAY OKAY OKAY OPPOSITES!!!! A roar broke out, Reevesey looked like she was about to burst into tears of joy the soppy fuck, it reminded me of the moment I told her inner IT Consultant that she was going to be handling the books of this fine nation, like a leper being gifted death or a nonce a lordship - OKAY Stuart gaining control, I sniffed another line and passed Nadia a note, still no reply from Sweendog - fucker was always too busy getting shit sorted to reply to my texts - OKAY OKAY STUART TAKE IT AWAY, LETS FUCKING DO THIS GUYS - okay, I moved forward in my seat, bum sliding back and forth on the leather edge as my sausage fingers clasped maniacally - OPPOSITES! OPPOSITES! OPPOSITES!

HOSPITALS Stu started with, before looking around the room with Bez-wide eyes, sweat dripping from his tight and probably botoxed forehead ERMMM FUCK I DON’T KNOW HAHAHA thanks Reevesey - we are trying to fucking work here COMMUNITY I screamed, jumping out my chair FUCK YES MAN Stu fistbumped NICE, FUCKING GENERAL, INOCUOUS, EVERYONE LOVES IT, YOU”RE ON A FUCKING STREAK MAN thanks for the rim Stu OKAY OKAY - ANALOGUE, WE NEED TO BE ANTI-OLD, NOT IN A TRIPLE LOCK FUCKING WAY BUT LIKE THE LEWITES OR WHATEVER THEY ARE FUCKING CALLED - IT’S LUDDITES YOU IMBOSEAL! Wow bombastic backhander from Steph - DI-GI-TOOL moaned Nadia, who seemed to be falling under Stu’s spell ever more by the minute - YES FUCKING YES nothing suprises me with you Stu - really nothing. RIGHT, WHAT’S THE NHS FOR? I SAW THAT GIMP FROM THE SPECTATOR TALKING ABOUT SICKNESS THE OTHER DAY, WHAT”S THE OPPOSITE OF THAT? COME ON GUYS FUCK I was getting aggy - a small framed image of Victoria and the kids had haunted me across Stu’s shoulder mid sentence fuck fuck fuck PREVENTION!!!!! EVERYONE LOVES PREVENTION!!!! FIXING THINGS AT THE ROOT!!! THE GRASS FUCKING ROOOTTT!!! HAHAHAHAH I did not enamour Reevesey’s family next door, but fuck that would do - RIGHT - HOSPITAL TO COMMUNITY, ANALOGUE TO DIGITAL, SICKNESS TO PREVENTION! Stu hammered it into ChatGPT and put the iPad down - thank fuck that was ov  

I awoke in bed later that day, confused, Victoria’s absence the first thing touching my chubby little wings. I must have fucking blacked out again. Fuck sake. PRIME MINISTER fucking Stuart already man LBC ON HOLD ASKING FOR YOUR COMMENT ON THE HEALTH PLAN RELEASED TODAY he had already showered, dressed, sorted his shit out - fair fucking fucks man - OKAY ONE SEC - I put on my bright blue striped satin pyjama set, walked into the bathroom and flushed my head under the sink. Tonnes of shit blood snot gunk packet and darkness flooded the sink as I pulled my nostrils wide to complete the deposit. Four paracetamol, a glug of Vodka from the ablution drawers Victoria had put together for us in our first little townhouse in Kentish Town - SOUND STU AM READY BRING ME THE PHONE - okay fuck lets do it, it was only that smarmy fucking Nick Ferrero or whatever his name was, twat PRIME MINISTER - WHAT CAN YOU TELL US ABOUT YOUR 10 YEAR HEALTH PLAN? WHAT CAN PEOPLE EXPECT FROM THIS, THE FIRST MAJOR PUBLICATION OF YOUR PREMIERSHIP? Phew - right, take a fucking touch, cue diaphragmatic breathing, I could almost hear Victoria KEIR! L! A! C! LIGHT ARTICULATORY CONTACT - okay okay okay 3 2 1 WELL NICK THANK YOU FOR HAVING ME ON THIS MORNING - THIS PLAN PROMISES TO DELIVER REAL CHANGE FOR A NATION LET DOWN BY DECADES OF TORY MISMANAGEMENT - I WOULD RECOMMEND THAT PEOPLE READ IT FOR THEMSELVES, AND JUDGE US NOT ON OUR LANGUAGE NOW - BUT ON THE STATE OF THE NHS IN TEN YEARS TIME - phew BUT PRIME MIN I hung up, dashing Stu’s phone on the bed and sank on the corner of the bed - what a fucking night. What a time to be alive. I text Victoria - SORRY ABOUT LAST NIGHT BABE. Saving the NHS never felt so fucking good. 

Madness reviewed ‘Fit for the future: 10 Year Health Plan for England’ so you didn’t have to. Madness can reveal that, in case you missed its release in July 2025 and are yet to feel the tidal wave of improvement you may think was promised, that your misgivings are well founded. The Plan provided dubious AI-speak, invoking strong, generalised discussion around sympathy, empathy, and change. It included one mention of homelessness, and only four mentions of addiction, across the 171 page document. There was no revolutionary funding programme, no true recognition of the impact of inequality on access to healthcare in the UK, nor any true recognition or strategy to mitigate the black tide of addiction sweeping the Island’s shores. As you well know, you never do anything you plan to do when you’re in a strangers living room sniffing lines off of petrol-infused ceramics at 4am. You don’t even plan it properly. Don’t expect them to be any different. 

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