The NHS ‘wellbeing’ monkey deserves to die

My young daughter has a furry beaver — lifelike in all but its eyes, which to me seem cold and dead. I bought it for her in the United States and I think it has pride of place within her impressive menagerie of anthropomorphised cuddly toy animals. There are also countless wolves which we have to hide when her grandmother comes to stay, in case she puts them in a sack and burns them, or just throws them in the garage.

Grandma is an evangelical Christian of a somewhat uncompromising brand and believes that wolves, living or inanimate, are agents of Beelzebub. As, of course, are bats. Incidentally, when the Rapture comes, every member of our family, including Jessie the Dog, will be taken up to heaven for canapés, non-alcoholic cocktails, communal singing and a nice apartment like they have in CenterParcs — every member except for me. Grandma has blessed — with olive oil — the entire family except for Daddy.