In a move that can only be described as a collective return to the chalkboard of incompetence, 100 NHS hospitals have been forced to abandon their digital overlords and embrace the humble pen and paper. Yes, the same pen and paper that have been gathering dust in a cupboard next to a broken kettle since 1987. This after a 'national cyber-attack' so devastating it apparently bypassed every single firewall, antivirus, and the one guy in IT who definitely knows a thing or two about ransomware because his nephew told him.
Let us pause to marvel at the sheer poetry of this disaster: our most vital public service, the one we trust with our lives, has been reduced to writing vital signs on Post-it notes because someone, somewhere, clicked a link promising discounted flu jabs.
The attack, we are told, is being 'recovered' by British cybersecurity firms. I imagine them as pale, caffeine-fuelled knights in hooded armour, hunched over glowing screens in a bunker in Slough, muttering incantations like 'SQL injection' and 'did you try turning it off and on again?' Meanwhile, doctors are now diagnosing patients using hieroglyphics and carrier pigeons.
I visited a colleague in one of the affected hospitals. I found him clutching a biro and a yellow legal pad, writing a prescription for paracetamol. 'It's not so bad,' he said, his eyes twitching. 'At least I can remember the two-hour queue for the computer. Now I just queue for the single working pen.' The pen, I noted, was chained to the desk. Progress.
Let us not forget the cost. The NHS has reportedly spent billions on IT upgrades over the past decade. Billions. That's enough to buy every single person in Britain a personal cyber-unicorn. And yet here we are, back to the 19th century, where the most advanced piece of technology in the ward is a stethoscope that doesn't even have Bluetooth.
But fear not, for British cybersecurity firms are on the case. They will restore order with a combination of firewall patches and public relations spin. I can already see the press release: 'We have identified the source of the attack as a Russian state-sponsored zombie hamster. All patient data is safe because it was stored on a series of fading ink blots.'
In the meantime, I have taken to carrying a fountain pen and a hip flask of gin to offer solace to the besieged nurses. They appreciate the gin. They do not appreciate my suggestions to install a telegraph machine. 'Too modern,' one said.
Thus the NHS endures: a titan brought low by a malicious script kiddie and a government that thinks 'cybersecurity' is something you ask the IT guy about while he's fixing the printer. I have one thing to say to the hacker responsible: you absolute swine. But also, thank you for providing the richest satire material since the last 'once-in-a-lifetime' pandemic.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to send this article via telegram. The WiFi is down.
