When I was a wee lad growing up in the suburbs of London I had a neighbour who was diagnosed with a blood condition. His doctor didn’t order him to take expensive pills and potions, oh no. He was prescribed two pints of Guinness a day. On the National Health Service. In other words, for free (because this was in that heady three year period in the 1960s when there were no prescription charges). If that’s not an argument for socialised medicine then I’m a monkey’s uncle, eek eek. These days the minimum prescription fee is more than the cost of a pint of Guinness. Progress? I don’t think so.