Okay, let’s not pretend £80k is pocket change. But hang on—think about the emotional labour. A GP spends their day holding your hand through a cancer scare, prescribing antidepressants for a teenager, and pretending not to notice the smell of your alcoholic breath. They carry that home. And they do it all while knowing that their salary hasn’t kept up with inflation, and that the government keeps asking them to do more for less. If you ask me, the real question isn’t “how much do they earn?” but “why on earth do they stay?”
So next time you’re in a queue at the GP surgery, scrolling through your phone, maybe pause and think: that doctor who called you in three minutes late? They’re not getting rich. They’re just trying to keep the NHS on life support—one prescription pad at a time. And if they are a partner, they’re probably worried about the practice’s electric bill. Be kind. And maybe bring them a coffee. They’ve earned it.
