I have so busy coughing and spluttering in apoplectic indignation at the proposal to nationalise English corpses that I have not found time to blog about it. Now that the ever-brilliant Daily Mash has published the linked article, to do so would be redundant.
Why do I say "English", not "British" corpses? Because state body-snatching is a devolved function apparently, so Welsh and Scots corpses will not be rifled without their prior consent. I don't doubt that harvested English organs will find their way into their better-funded hospitals though, so they can continue to live off us even after we die.
I would not fancy my chances in an NHS hospital if my kidney would save the life of a Cabinet Minister or a member of his family. Mind you, like many a better expert than myself, I would not fancy my chances in an NHS hospital anyway.
English people may not typically be religious, but they clearly do not regard the remains of their dear departed family members as mere trash. If they did, they would not spend £1.3 billion a year on lovingly disposing of them. Our Prime Minister, whose remains I would cheerfully recycle as a dance floor were it not for my concern for his family's feelings, takes a more utilitarian view of the Anglo-Saxon stiff.
Now that Labour has identified your loved ones body parts as material for recycling how long before they start charging you to take them away? How long after that before they want to micro-chip the moribund, to make sure their bits are lawfully disposed of? It is on days like this that I wish I were a swear-blogger.