The NHS is poorly. We place an ice-cold stethoscope against the chest of the health service and what do we hear? Exhausted staff fuelled by red bull and bitterness. Money tumbles through its body like a Blackpool coin pusher, landing in the gaping maw of a private equity-owned foot scrape clinic. A man with a pitchfork through his head being told to lose weight. Diagnosis: It’s wrecked.