Yes, you know the one. Dylan Thomas. Old age. Rage. I’m in one of those funny moods again.

Have you ever had one of those days when you just want to give up? I spent last night with a head crammed with things to write about but couldn’t for the life of me make anything into a remotely interesting post. I have a stack of things to do, just to keep up, and the problems of the world also seem to have descended on me. Sometimes it just happens.

The anticoagulant service has messed up on my testing. It isn’t their fault. The IT in the blood testing department went down a couple of weeks ago and although my test was due the day after they restarted, it seems to have been caught up in the general mess. The nurse who tested did OK, the lab tested it, but nothing happened. That’s what happens when you get giant organisations. It’s also what happens when these organisations don’t invest in new equipment. The trouble is that the NHS can’t afford new equipment. They are being challenged on all fronts. Nurses want more money, doctors want more money, people want treatment for fertility and gender issues (neither of which is actually an illness). People want inquiries because they don’t think they are getting good service, people want expensive drugs, people want compensation when things go wrong.

And the final result is that they don’t have robust IT systems so my blood test goes missing.

Now, before you all start complaining about my insensitivity, yes, I know that each of those problems is serious, if not actually tragic for the people who suffer. I know we all want more money. I am, however, able to access the pay scales of the NHS online and I have family who work for the NHS and I can tell you that compared to shop assistants and and care workers NHS staff don’t do too badly.

The bottom line is that the NHS, even if it took all the money in the country, would not be properly funded. The demands we make on it are just too high and, frankly, unrealistic.

And that’s before we look at the demands of education, defence, police, infrastructure and all the other things we take for granted. Or before I start to discuss my First World Problems of lawyers, moving house, health and vegetables.

I’m hoping that, having spent my morning in the company of a list and some self-discipline, I have sorted out a few of my problems. By tonight I may be back as a fully functioning human being rather than a zombie. Then I can start to sort out the problems of the world.

And here’s another version to play me out. I may have it read at my funeral, if I can find a suitable Welshman to read it. And if I have a funeral. Those cheap plans where they take you away in a van and burn the body are looking very attractive as I embrace the world of living off a pension.