God. I can't believe I'm writing about this again. The militant docs are back at it, and this time they're literally bribing their own members with pizza to get them on board for more strikes.

I spent 3 hours yesterday talking to a junior doctor friend (who shall remain nameless for obvious reasons) who told me she's fed up with teh whole thing. "We got a 22% rise last year," she texted me at midnight. "Some of us just want to get on with treating patients."

Pizza: The Secret Weapon in Union Arsenal

The British Medical Association – that's the junior docs' union for those who haven't been following this saga since 2023 – is planning to ballot thousands of members this month on fresh strikes. But here's where it gets interesting.

They've got a secret playbook.

Internal documents (which somehow landed in my inbox last Thursday... don't ask how) reveal union activists are being coached on how to convince their reluctant colleagues to vote for strikes. And their master plan? Pizza parties. I'm not kidding. There's literally a strategy document telling reps to organize "pizza and pay meetings" to win back doctors who've "stepped back from striking."

Wait, didn't they JUST get a massive raise?

Yep. After 18 excruciating months of walkouts that cancelled millions of appointments (my mum's hip replacement got pushed back TWICE because of this), junior doctors – now officially called "residents" – secured a pretty sweet deal from the Labour government.

First-year docs saw their salaries jump from £29,400 to £36,600. By year five, they're making £70,400 instead of £58,400. That's a 22% increase when most public sector workers were lucky to get 5%.

And now they want more?

The awkward truth nobody's talking about

Listen. The BMA has a problem. Their own members are getting cold feet about more industrial action. Their internal documents (which make for fascinating bedtime reading) show they're struggling with comments like:

"We've lost momentum after the last strikes."

"There's no money in the Treasury for anything in the UK, we shouldn't be asking for more."

And my personal favorite: "My registrars and consultants think the first strikes were good but now we're being greedy."

When your own senior colleagues think you're being greedy... that's awkward.

Remember those millions of cancelled appointments?

I spoke with Janet from Doncaster last week (she's been waiting for a knee replacement since 2022). Poor Janet. She's had three appointments cancelled during the previous strikes and is terrified it'll happen again.

"I can barely walk to my letterbox," she told me over coffee. "And these young doctors with their pizza parties are deciding whether I get treatment this year."

The opposition has noticed too. Mike Wood, shadow Cabinet Office minister, said: "If Labour really wanted to put country before party they would stand up to them, but I'm not holding my breath."

I reached out to the BMA for comment. Radio silence so far. Shocking, I know.

So what happens next?

The ballot goes out this month. And while union bosses are busy ordering Domino's to convince the waverers, patients across the country are anxiously watching their appointment letters, wondering if they'll be the next casualty in this pay dispute.

Back in 2019, I would've had more sympathy. Healthcare workers were genuinely struggling. But after a 22% pay rise when inflation is around 4%? And when the NHS waiting lists are at record highs?

I dunno. Maybe I'm missing something.

Or maybe... just maybe... some junior doctors are starting to realize what their union leadership won't admit: that they've already won the battle, and continuing to strike hurts the very people they've sworn to heal.