A GP at No 10: A Humbling Invitation to Celebrate Public Service
By Dr Joshua Nivern, ARRS NQGP in Central North Leeds PCN
Before the Door
Trepidation and Intrigue
The email arrived casually, forwarded through official channels. Are you free to pop down to Number 10 Downing Street next week? No clear explanation. No real indication of what it was for.
The vagueness, of course, only added to the mystery. Why had I been invited? What was the purpose of the event? Was this a policy roundtable? A symbolic gesture? A quiet meeting of health-conscious minds? I, as well as my friends and colleagues were all intrigued, proud, and understandably curious. I was quietly humbled. It could have been any GP. And perhaps that was the point.
Yet a pattern began to emerge as I compared notes with a few others who got invitations. Many of us were newly qualified GPs, part of the expanded ARRS scheme — a scheme that, thanks to the current Labour government, finally opened up to include newly qualified GPs, having previously been limited to extended roles like pharmacists, physician associates, and paramedics. A small shift with significant consequences allowing new GPs work that had seemingly dried up. Perhaps this invite wasn’t just symbolic — maybe it was a signal or a knowing nod.
Preparing for the Unknown
With no set agenda, I did what any slightly anxious, somewhat nerdy professional would do: Prepare.
I studied the names and faces of people I might encounter. Prime Minister, Sir Kier Starmer, Health Secretary, Wes Streeting, NHSE CEO Sir Jim Mackey, NHS England chair Dr Penny Dash, NHSE GP director Dr Claire Fuller, deputy GP Director Dr Kieran Collinson, MP for General practise Stephen Kinnock and others who may be there if it’s a policy makers discussion. I brushed up on NHSE’s devolved structure and tried to untangle what a quango actually is.
I met with my Clinical Director, Dr Richard Vautrey — a sharp, kind, proactive mentor who’s been nothing but supportive since my initial employment in his Primary Care Network (PCN). He beamed with second-hand pride as we spoke, eyes alive with figuring out how best to prepare the mystery purpose of the invite. He is extremely well placed to advise as an influential and experienced GP politician, RCGP President and a former BMA GPC chair. We discussed the challenges newly qualified GPs face, from salary funding issues to the need for more localised, practice-based mentorship and stability, particularly as employment models shift between PCNs and practices. If I got a minute with a policymaker, I wanted to speak to that, represent our interests and make my mark.
And then there was the genuine support from my colleagues back home in North Leeds. My PCN managers and leaders who root for me, who want to see the next generation do well. That kind of encouragement matters more than most people realise.
The Trip Down
I travelled to London by train, still unsure what awaited me but excited, nonetheless. I stayed with a friend the night before. Had breakfast with an old medical school friend. Just a touch of enjoyable familiarity before what was shaping up to be anything but normal. It also just so happened to be my birthday, Tuesday, July 1st. I couldn’t have planned a better way to spend it. Certainly, a birthday to remember.
At the Door of Power
Through the Door of Number 10
In the sweltering 33°C sun, I made my way to Westminster. Red tie, best city pinstripe wool suit (you’ve got to look the part). Past Big Ben, past police in stab vests and armed guards with rifles, and finally into the queue outside Number 10.
It was a surreal sight: a gaggle of public servants, dressed in assorted uniforms or their formal best. There were matrons, nurses, military personnel, police executives, prison officers, sailors, lifeguards, veterans, GPs, firefighters, teachers, charity workers, council workers and many others. I met Katherine, another newly qualified GP in the line. We’d both been invited last-minute, travelled solo and knew no one else. We stuck together and worked the room as a duo, two strangers brought together by our shared sense of curiosity and mild imposter syndrome, similar to huddling together on placement as medical students, and mutually not knowing what to do and figuring it out together.
We passed Larry the Cat, Chief Mouser to the Ministerial Cabinet, and resident of Downing Street, lying sprawled in the shade of a blacked-out Range Rover, panting in the dusty heat. Inside, after ID checks and leaving our phones in cubby holes (no digital recordings allowed), we stepped through the famed glossy black door and into the reception hall. Oak panels, stone staircases, and the portraits of ministerial cabinets past, Churchill central in wartime gravitas, Thatcher in turquoise amidst navy suits.
And then, through the hallway and down into the historic garden of number 10.
In the Garden of Service
The Downing Street Garden is a quintessential English oasis: hydrangeas, roses, manicured shrubs framing a parched yellow lawn — so compacted by generations of government guests and officials, that even the passing breast surgical consultant’s stiletto heels couldn’t penetrate to aerate the turf. Waiters circled with silver trays and jugs of Pimm’s, glasses of wine and G&Ts, with beautifully crafted canapés - coronation chicken tacos, poppadom’s’ with mango chutney and lime, watermelon cubes topped with whipped feta and mint.
But more memorable than the canapés was the company.
We mingled. We shared our stories. There were GPs pioneering proactive care for older patients to prevent acute admissions. Nurses exploring AI for wound care and smart triage. Public health leaders designing programmes for healthier lifestyles. There were crisis incident managers, and paramedics like those involved in the Southport stabbings, who manage the chaos of emergency response, dealt with unimaginable horror and then went straight back to work the next day despite the trauma.
And then, the speech.
A Government of Service
Sir Keir Starmer stood just metres away from me, close enough to clearly see the expressions on his face as he spoke. I’m not deeply political, and I don’t obsess over every policy nuance, but I do pay attention to current affairs. And in that moment, I felt something genuine.
He thanked us. He called this government one of “service,” grounded in gratitude to the people who keep the country running. He pledged to support public sector workers not just with words, but with action.
He mentioned the Southport responders. He said: “They said they were just doing their job. But if you stop and think about it — it’s so much more than that.”
He was right.
There was a hubbub of collective pride in the air, an unspoken understanding that all of us, in different ways, had given a part of ourselves in service to others. And, for once, it felt seen.
After the speech the usual political buzz returned, aides with clipboard and discreet hulking bodyguards, introductions being orchestrated, guests being shuttled toward handshakes. Starmer was whisked back to Parliament quickly, but not before taking time to thank veterans, police officers, and military personnel.
As the crowds thinned, I stayed, talking mostly with fellow healthcare professionals, trading ideas, frustrations, and dreams for a better NHS. We scribbled contact details on scraps of paper, a charming, analogue touch in a phone-free garden.
After the Applause
As I left Number 10, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. I felt appreciated. Seen.
And that doesn’t happen often in general practice. Too often we are defined by 10-minute appointments, long days, headlines that fail to understand the soul of what we do.
But being in that garden reminded me: we are part of something bigger. We can shape the future of healthcare. We should speak up. We must look beyond the clinic walls, to proactive care for our ageing population, digital innovations, leadership roles that bring continuity and stability to our services.
The work goes on, of course. The waiting rooms are still full. The documents, tasks and online consultation inboxes are still overflowing. But for one sun-drenched afternoon, in a historic garden behind a glossy black door, we were reminded of why we do it, and why it matters.