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LONDON – In a move described as "refreshingly traditional," the British Medical Association has responded to its staff's strike action by installing a row of spinning jennies in the accounts department and replacing the staff canteen with a single, communal bucket of lukewarm gruel.


The Board of Guardians (formerly the Executive Committee) issued a statement from the comfort of a velvet-lined sedan chair, confirming that while they demand a "Golden Stethoscope and a Hereditary Peerage" for every Junior Doctor, their own support staff must learn to survive on a diet of "grit and chimney-sweepings."


The "Tavistock Square Workhouse" Reforms:


The Pay Rise: Staff have been offered a "Bountiful Shilling" per annum, provided they can prove they haven't smiled during office hours.


The "Half-Rat" Benefit: Following reports of hunger, the BMA has sanctioned the trapping of rodents in the basement. Staff are permitted to share one rat between four, provided they bring their own salt and don't get "ideas above their station."


The "Golden Carriage" Clause: The BMA insists that its represented doctors require carriages with "suspension made of unicorn silk," while office staff have been told that "shoes are a privilege, not a right," and have been issued with commemorative BMA-branded foot-bindings.


"Please Sir, I Want Some More... Paid Leave"


The industrial action was finally triggered when the BMA’s Chief Beadle replaced the building’s porcelain chamber pots with "eco-conscious" biodegradable doggy bags.


"It was a bridge too far," sobbed one Junior Data-Scrivener, while attempting to sharpen a quill by the flickering light of a single tallow stump. "We stayed quiet when the working day was extended to twenty hours, and we squinted through the candlelight without complaint. But being forced to perform our morning duties into a bag previously reserved for a Spaniel is where we draw the line. We may be the idle poor, but we’re not going to spend our only ten-minute break trying to tie a double-knot with frostbitten fingers."


When the British Medical Association was asked to comment their spokesman said "We are shocked by the ingratitude, we already provide a 'Mental Health Support' scheme consisting of a framed photograph of a loaf of bread, and we’ve even reduced the number of hours children are allowed to spend greasing the elevators. What more do these scoundrels want? A window with a view of the sun?"


At press time, the BMA had successfully petitioned the Home Office to allow them to pay their striking staff in "Company Script" redeemable only at the BMA gift shop, which currently only stocks leeches and top-hat polish.



"No one ever made a better ceasefire deal than this," bragged Trump to reporters during his one-man victory parade down Pennsylvania Avenue.


"I told Iran I wouldn't bomb them for two weeks and they agreed not to get bombed.


"That's after I swore at them and threatened to commit a load of massive war crimes. But when my generals refused to do the war crimes for me, I generously agreed not to. Plus, Iran is continuing to charge ships to go through the Strait of Hormuz because there's nothing I can do about that.


"But now you're going to see a ceasefire like no ceasefire ever before. You'll be amazed at this incredible display of American ceasefire-power.


"So hand over that Nobel Prize now, you crazy Scandinavian bastards, or your whole civilisation will die tonight."



The Ministry of Defence announced today that, despite criticism from President Trump our largest and best-equipped trireme, the HMS Jolly Matelot, would be pulling out of its home port of Hunstanton, just as soon as its Captain, Andrew Moistbottom-Wonder is available from his hectic routine of horse-riding and, well, more horse-riding.


"This vessel is state-of-the-art, equipped with BBD-01 Mk.VI Big British Drums for propulsion. These are capable of drive settings covering everything from Classical Waltz to Saturday Night Fever. I tell you, these disco rates don't half shift! And for stealth mode we've got big lambswool muffles to silence the drums. Admittedly, this kind of defeats the point of them, but we're hoping to work something out during the six-month sea trials it'll take us to get to the Med.


"The prow, ready to be rammed up the enemy, is carved as a grotesque fearsome horned lizard monster, or Faragec*nt to use the old nautical term. Again, it does need a bit of work on it. The way it's mounted now has it hanging off pointing to starboard and not really providing a clear way forward. Still, a few good soakings, encounters with jellyfish, and a couple of rusty buoys should soon straighten it out.


"And finally, the mighty Matelot has more oars than you can shake a stick at. Remember, our experienced Captain Andy knows how to handle 'ores, believe me. He's recently been getting hands-on with a couple of Norfolk broads he met round the back of the fish sheds at Kings Lynn. What could go wrong?



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