As plans for 'assisted dying' advance through Holyrood and Westminster, columnist Kevin McKenna looks into his crystal ball - and doesn't like what he sees

No one would have believed in the first half of the 21st century that the older generation was being watched keenly and closely by far lesser intelligences.

A few years had elapsed since the introduction of the Assisted Dying legislation and, initially at least, all the previous suspicions about it had seemed unfounded. Only a few poor, chronically ill souls had taken the decision to end their lives and then only after the requisite checks and balances had been conducted.

It was only after the 2029 financial crash that the problems began. This was when the global markets had staked everything on crypto-currency futures only to find they’d all been hoodwinked by a giant Ponzi scam that made Sam Bankman-Fried’s 2022 FDX grift look like a case of double-dipping at the Bingo.

As affluent western democracies began to make tough cost-cutting decisions, healthcare provision came under the gimlet-eyed scrutiny of the civil servants and policy-makers. Across the UK, mandatory annual health MOTs for people over the age of 40 were introduced. Those with ailments found to have been caused by cigarettes, alcohol, pot noodles and Monster Munch were given six months to sort themselves out or be given lifetime bans from receiving treatment for future maladies.

Actress Liz Carr (left) takes part in a demonstration at Old Palace Yard in Westminster, London, to oppose the Terminally Ill Adults (End of Life) Bill. A proposed law to legalise assisted dying in England and Wales has cleared its first parliamentary hurdle after MPs voted 330 to 275, majority 55, to approve it at second reading (Image: free) By a process of three-strikes-and-you’re-out, the persistently no’-weel began to be rounded up and held in special ‘health-farms’. Very few would ever see the light of day again with startled relatives often being told to appear at burials and cremations for the presumably departed.

It wasn’t long before the gaze of the state began to fall on the elderly as well as the infirm. Special tribunals were established, comprising hand-picked civic types, to apply the new National Quality of Life Index. Those exhibiting signs of decrepitude, infirmity or who looked a wee bit down were targeted and made to describe how content they were with their lot.

Were they not a wee bit depressed about having to wheech about in a wheelchair? Surely it must be embarrassing to get assistance at your toilette? You haven’t had concupiscence recently: how does that make you feel? You’re looking a bit pre-occupied this morning: is life getting you down?

If an individual’s score fell below 50 on the happiness assessment test they were advised to accept a quick end to their misery. Special savings schemes were introduced in Scotland’s most disadvantaged communities. These operated like the old money-off-your-next-shop stamps you used to get in the Co-op. If you collected enough of them you got to stay for up to a month in a five-star resort before you received your jag. Crucially, there were attractive dividend packages to friends and families for helping you make the right decision.

An expensive advertisement campaign was launched with slogans such as: Don’t be a Burden, Be a Benefit; Tomorrow Doesn’t Belong to You and Make Scotland Fit Again.

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Online misinformation, chiefly disseminated by BlueSky, fed a daily supply of horror stories about the NHS collapsing under the strain of people who had clearly lived beyond their usefulness. All government departments had been forced to adopt the blogging site as the designated social media platform. It was far easier to cancel rogue opinions on BlueSky than it had been on Twitter/X.

Rudimentary squads of climate activists – recognisable by their black, quasi-military uniforms - began to roam the streets picking out those looking a bit too old or suspiciously peely as well as wally. In one snatch of found footage one gang had filmed themselves surrounding an elderly chap emerging unsteadily from his local tavern and ordering him to “drop and give us 20”. When he’d failed to make it to his third press-up they’d unzipped their jackets and thrown packets of herbal food supplements at him.

The old DWP was replaced by Compelled Usefulness Navigation Tribunals at which the jaded and the forlorn were forced to appear following referrals by neighbourhood 0800 anonymous tip-off lines. There they were assessed on their future wage-earning prospects and the projected costs of their future healthcare. If they were deemed to be Beyond Usefulness it was straight down to the ‘Health Farms’ for them.

Palliative medicine products were soon taxed beyond the reach of most hospices which were forced to shut down. A brisk black market in these products soon emerged with treatments being delivered in pizza boxes along with the cocaine orders in pubs up and down the land.

A state-run task force attached to Police Scotland was given special powers to apprehend elderly types suspected of having avoided their summons to appear at the Quality of Life tribunals. They came to be known as the Codger Catchers and developed a fierce reputation for their methods as well as their 100% success rate.

MPs in Westminster debate the Terminally Ill Adults (End of Life) BillMPs in Westminster debate the Terminally Ill Adults (End of Life) Bill (Image: free) Some families took to building hidden granny rooms in their homes to evade scrutiny by the authorities and the dreaded 2am knock at the door. Sometimes, if the Codger Catchers were noticed early enough at the end of the street friends would beat their pots and pans to sound the alarm.

A grim national state lottery was introduced under the pretence of raising money for good causes. Like the old National Lottery it was merely a way of taxing poor people to pay for things that the government used to fund. The new Lotto offered players the chance to win lifetime access to expensive pain-relieving drugs and exemption from scrutiny by the forces of the state.

The Scottish Government in association with the BBC established a nationwide Hunger Games style game show. Local communities would send their village bampots and drunkards to a week-long series of brutal challenges in the Cairngorms.

There they would be treated to all-you-can-drink nights out and then picked off one-by-one by falling into swollen rivers or being devoured by wild beasts who had been reintroduced for the purpose. The winner would be given six months of free treatment at a rehab centre where they would be nursed back into state usefulness.

This decade of the Grand Terror (as it came to be known) only ceased when it was revealed that Holyrood and UK ministers had been sending their elderly relatives to an illegal luxury retirement resort on an uninhabited island off the north-west coast of Scotland.

Kevin McKenna is a Herald writer and columnist. When his time draws near please leave the switches alone. But he’s always fancied having a go at the way the First Nation American OAPs check out.