In a development that has left medical professionals reaching for the gin and health officials scrambling for the emergency breaks, Europe has achieved a dubious milestone: gonorrhoea and syphilis cases have soared to record highs. Yes, dear readers, it appears the continent is in the grip of a passion so potent it’s making penicillin suppliers rub their hands with glee.
Let us turn our attention to the United Kingdom, where health authorities have sounded the klaxon. The UK Health Security Agency (UKHSA) has reported a 50% increase in gonorrhoea diagnoses since 2021, and syphilis cases have risen by a staggering 15%. To put that in perspective, these numbers are climbing faster than the price of a pint in central London.
But what, one might ask, is causing this great resurgence of the clap and the pox? Perhaps it is the post-lockdown libido, a phenomenon where months of isolation have led to a collective sexual frenzy. Or maybe it’s the result of a tragic decline in the quality of British banter; after all, nothing says ‘I love you’ like a case of antibiotic-resistant bacteria.
Let us not forget the role of dating apps. These digital flesh-peddlers have turned romance into a swipe-and-forget transaction. Why bother with foreplay when you can cut straight to the chase and exchange STI test results like Pokémon cards? The apps proudly offer reminders to get tested, but one wonders if they might also include a gentle nudge towards monogamy. Probably not; that would be bad for engagement metrics.
The medical establishment, for its part, is wringing its hands. Condoms, they cry, are the answer. But condoms are to modern love what vegetables are to a seven-year-old: sensible, boring, and easily forgotten after two drinks. And let’s be honest, no one ever wrote a poem about a latex barrier.
Meanwhile, the pharmaceutical industry rubs its hands with glee. Antibiotic-resistant gonorrhoea is the gift that keeps on giving, a perfect business model: you catch it, we cure it, you catch it again. It’s the circle of life, courtesy of sexual liberation and poor hygiene.
But I digress. The real culprit may be something far more sinister: the sheer absurdity of modern existence. In a world where you can order a partner like a pizza and have them delivered in 30 minutes or less, who has time for pesky things like health warnings? We are all too busy curating our online personas, meticulously filtering our face, and selecting the perfect crotch-shot to attract a mate. It’s a wonder anyone has time to actually have sex.
So, what is to be done? First, burn all dating apps. Second, bring back the chastity belt (or at least the utility belt, fully stocked with condoms and a tiny bottle of hand sanitiser). Third, accept that the greatest aphrodisiac is not danger, but a clean bill of health.
But until that glorious day, we shall continue to report on the rising tide of venereal diseases with a mixture of glee and horror. This is Biff Thistlethwaite, gonzo journalist, signing off. Remember: if it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing safely. Or at least, with a prescription.
