Sad Times
In corridors of Fife, where logic apparently sleeps,
Sandie speaks of dignity while management turns somersault leaps.
A half‑naked rant at Christmas Eve, misgendered fury swirls—
Suddenly the nurse’s world unravels in policy whirl.
“Embarrassed!” she declares, “intimidated!” by presence unassumed,
Meanwhile HR drafts emails calling police before facts are groomed.
A tribunal beckons—with the judge kindly decreeing:
“You may misgender in court, lest your worldview needs freeing.”
Inside, the campaigners chant, “Biological sex must stand!”—
Sex Matters lends its weight; ‘class war’ whispers from JK Rowling’s hand.
But evidence is fiddled—a phone edited post‑confrontation;
“Too little proof,” the board sighs, and drops the misconduct accusation.
A nurse of thirty years stood on identity’s sharp divide,
While NHS spent hundreds of thousands funding every siide.
Now tribunals resume in Dundee—an absurd legal show,
Where comfort in single‑sex spaces becomes the star of the low.
Sad times indeed—where shared cubicles birth courtroom drama
And complaint becomes a crusade, in Scotland’s NHS saga.
May satire hold the mirror up to absurd institutional rides,
Where biology meets HR slides—and dignity slowly subsides.