There is much talk of those most topical british scapegoats-scroungers, addicts, workshy feckless disableds and immigrants. In an exclusive story set to make the daily fail weep with prejudiced, crocodile teared joy I bring you a tale of addiction, loss, tragedy, grief...and possibly ingested insect poo.
Are you sitting comfortably? Then we'll begin...
...Once upon a time in a land far, far from here* a family fretted about inflation and the loss of opportunity. There was no work for ordinary folk like them and the children cried with hunger. Winter was approaching with huge energy costs and the future seemed bleak.
So, a plan was hatched-the oldest son, a strapping young lad born when food was plentiful, would be sent ahead to the land of free benefits and all night boozing. There would be work there, money to send home to feed his starving younger siblings & hope of a future fit for them all. The family gathered their meagre possessions in an attempt to equip him for the journey and bid their prodigal son a teary but hopeful au revoir.
It was a long and exhausting journey. The nights were cold, the days short and the people along the way hostile to strangers. Finally, just as he thought he could continue no longer the oldest son saw distant lights and smelled the heady aroma of food.
Summoning the last of his courage, the starving young man slipped across the unguarded threshold and collapsed, temporarily overcome by the warmth and new, strange sensation he couldn't place fluttering in his stomach. At first he thought it must be hunger but that had become a constant burning accompaniment before he'd even left home. No, this was something different, something he'd could barely remember from those heady childhood hours of plenty - hope.
Stunned by the sight of such plenty the young man's senses reeled. Only thoughts of his family still starving at home and the youngest children disabled by malnutrition spurred him on. Somehow he dragged his exhausted body closer to the tempting smell of sugar laden calories.
Eventually he made it within touching distance of the food and was astonished to find this a land of such plenty the food was unguarded. Overwhelmed by the need to feed he threw caution to the wind and dived headlong in to gorge himself on the sticky, sweet nectar. He felt sure it was so plentiful and so nutritious he would soon be restored and able to work to support his family. That is, as soon as he was full and able to have just a little nap as the food was making him so very, very sleepy....
And there he was found, face first in a bottle of morphine. Without even an ID card to trace and inform his starving family back home that help would not be coming. Adding to the faux moral outrage was the knowledge that he had occupied the oramorph bottle for quite some time, probably accounting for the slightly unusual, crunchy texture occuring when placing the syringe into the syringey receiving bottle top thingummy that was dismissed at the time as poor people's spines crunching under the weight of austerity measures.
As to whether the oramorph or the ingested insect poo is responsible for this tale you'll have to decide for yourselves. There was a moral in there somewhere...I think...but like the earwig** I'm feeling awfully sleepy now...
*my money's on the back yard, there's all manner of illegal immigrants living in the plant pots and an entire family of snails have colonised the gnome.
** I strongly suspect this is NOT an actual earwig but an imposter insect impersonating an earwig that I don't know the proper name of. So, we'll call him Pete.