The Victorian Cure

I've had this brilliant idea. 

I've devised an alternative therapy for poorly people. It draws on the solid work done by the Victorians in their treatment of invalids. It should be terrific fun for the invalid and good moral training for everyone involved with them. I call it "The Victorian Cure" and I can hardly wait to get started. 

First, the invalid and  associated carers should check into a seafront hotel in Brighton. The hotel should have "grand" or "imperial" in its name, and be luxurious but not lively. The staff are obsequious but never cheerful, as that would show insufficient respect. The hotel smells of biscuits and disappointment. Everyone but the invalid speaks in a hushed tone. The sound of teacups tinkling is muted by the deep turkey red carpets.

It is crucial that a high-quality bath chair is made available, for at the slightest whim, the invalid must be bundled into furs and taken for an airing along the promenade. Of course, there must always be someone ready to pull the bath chair. This could be a favourite relative or perhaps a local working man of good character anxious to earn a few extra pence. I have heard that Brighton abounds in these. Whoever draws the carriage must at the very least be able to respond to simple commands, such as:

"Desist with the jostling! I am not a cabbage."

"Slow down, you insufferable oik"

"Seagulls are vermin. Please remove them"

I expect that after a few days of promenading, the invalid will become a figure of much interest and admiration. As a result, small children may be washed and offered for inspection. It is polite to look these children up and down and then offer an opinion. For example "What an extraordinarily plain child!" always goes down well, along with "Somebody needs to teach that child to stand up straight." or "As an invalid, I must not be allowed any closer to that insanitary little toad".

I am fortunate to have been blessed with satisfactory off-spring, and these will be instrumental in my own Victorian Cure.

My daughter will naturally abandon her academic, career and social ambitions, for her place now is by my side. Her duties will be many and under-appreciated. She will attempt to gently rearrange my hair almost continually, as I jerk my head irritably and yak on endlessly about how beautiful I once was. 

The boys, too,will have work to do. They will become clerks in stultifying offices and spend every hour that they are not at work, visiting and describing how their hearts are breaking to see their poor Mama suffer so. 

I am not a cruel woman and suspect these 3 currently independent, feisty and creative descendants may struggle in their new roles. Perhaps they can find a creative outlet in composing songs and poems celebrating motherhood in general and me in particular? For example (just off the cuff):

Our mother is like an angel

Looking down from up above

We long to see her smiling

We are drowning in her love.

Carefully-prepared soft food will be brought but we invalids are notoriously picky and it will always be wrong. Sometimes the invalid will fancy something incredibly inconvenient like an avocado and turmeric salad. If sufficient effort is made to provide this, the invalid will reward the effort by taking a small mouthful. Then the plate will be pushed aside and the invalid will sink back into the pillows with a sigh of exhaustion. 

A handsome doctor visits every day. His expression and his diagnosis are always the same. "She is a brave woman. She is much the same."

The main difficulty I see with this most excellent system is funding. I shall of course be lobbying the NHS but am not convinced that they'll come through with the cash. I wonder, might this be a good opportunity for crowd-funding? That way,we can combine the best of the new world with the best of the old.