I’m pretty sure all, or at least nearly all of us, have experienced the grim horror that is queuing on a call to a large organisation.
Currently I’m severely depressed, and I’m often required to call the NHS. I love and treasure the NHS. But under Tory and New Labour misrule, it’s being turned into an impersonal impenetrable block of granite.
I’ve just received a letter summarising a meeting I recently had with an NHS functionary. In this letter are numerous factual errors. Some trivial, some less so. They need correcting.
I’ve emailed about these concerns, and hope to hear back. But I’m not holding my breath.
What I would far prefer, and I’m sure I’m far from alone in this respect, is a brief conversation with an appropriate person, in a position to remedy the situation. What I most definitely DO NOT want is to waste precious time, energy, and – no doubt – money, listening to robots and Muzak. Only to get absolutely nowhere. Oh, except a little closer to my grave!