Political traffic | The Press

There is traffic in the political world in this election campaign.

Even me, maniac, I have to make an effort to survive the cascade of daily electoral engagements. Like Montmorency Falls in the spring.

It tumbles, it clogs.

We are not used to that, five full-time political parties. And it all wants to exist, these little beasts!

I just wonder if the population will follow until the end, or even if they are still following, at the present time. Especially as the summer stretches out, and the BBQs are on fire.

And if, by dint of accumulating promises, everything does not equalize. What would give the advantage to the status quo, to the bossMr. Legault.

Will have to see.

In any case, to note the frenzy of the parties on the reductions in taxes and taxes, and the new expenses proposed, I have the impression of having escaped one. Maybe we’re full of aces, and I didn’t see anything.

And I, who tended to worry about the finances of Quebec. We’re going to calm down on the Ativans, there!

If there was a little left gravity financial for the rainy days, a little embarrassment aside, say, well, “She’s gone!” ! ! as Rodger Brulotte so aptly roared.

But I have the feeling that in this specific case, it really evens out. That the boss has a net advantage.

Because he is already in power. Because he has already signed checks before the campaign, and he has promised to sign us more after. He is credible, and Quebeckers believe him.

We take it for granted cash.

Same thing for health.

Hundreds of new doctors? A thousand ?

OK. But it has been said: to become a general practitioner, a route of seven years is necessary, so that a student has the final right to practice. And if he wanted to develop a specialty, let’s say we add three years.

Let’s think about two years, to organize everything in the tower of Babel, and this new omni will come to your rescue in almost ten years, and the specialist, in 13.

About me, if I navel-gaze, I’ll be 75 when the new omni becomes available. At that age, I will be entitled to the general examination, the conclusions of which will probably send me to a specialist.

Of the omni, I will deserve the minimum service.

Alterations to the engine functions, so that traffic flows as normally as possible, or checking the circuits, because I may have become electric by then, like the cars. And lubrication of joints, joints.

I will also ask for a little extra: a little oil on all four wheels of my walker. Really chic, the omni!

And if my little heart bends too much – I’m already surprised that it still holds, with the life of a slob that I lead – or that my cursed prostate cancer comes to mind, I’ll be approaching 80 for the new specialists.

The cardiologist won’t touch my guts, which are too old. I will be entitled to small capsules, to restore a little swingto my rocker heart.

As for my cancer, the onco will play the clock, and let it go until my beautiful death. That’s how it works in those cases. It’s statistical.

And you know what, concerning the health system, I sincerely believe that the population no longer dreams of miracles. Again, advantage to boss.

Because if you’re like me, my last hope now rests on the shoulders of Christian Dubé.

I can’t really say why, but the guy inspires confidence in me. Probably, precisely, because he doesn’t really know that, health. Possibly because he has already managed, and we have the feeling that he can think outside the box (Anglicism, I know).

Otherwise, during this campaign, there is very little talk of a housing shortage. As if we wanted to evade the subject, or that we were devoid of solutions.

Like the labor shortage, this is the other wall in front of us.

It could become disastrous. As in the western provinces. Talk to people in Vancouver to see.

Here, as for the workforce, we would need a precise plan, which does not come, for the next few years. We are told of thousands of new social housing units, absolutely necessary, yes. But that won’t be enough. Not everyone is entitled to these accommodations. It won’t do the job.

I stop here. The boss holds me tight to more or less 800 words…