… thank goodness.
But he’ll never live down that one. Heh, heh!
And then we come to Stewart Lee’s magnificent little memoir in today’s Observer:
The maggot machine that changed my life (and the future of the Tories)
My favourite bit:
One night, as I was topping up a maggot machine in a layby near Thetford, an angler arrived to fill a Tupperware box with comatose larvae. While he made small talk he threaded the fattest maggots on to a succession of hooks, spiking them between two black, eye-like markings on one end. It seems silly to write about it now, but when I got back in the van with Grant I felt a twinge of conscience. “Grant,” I said, “don’t you ever feel bad about this? We spend the absolute minimum on maintaining those barely alive maggots, just so someone can buy them and then throw them to their deaths?” “My dear fellow,” he said, buoyant as ever, “the maggots are comfortable, and they’re fed, and they’re warm-ish. They are serving an economic purpose. Their pointless existence is being monetised. I validate them.”
Don’t become a Borough Councillor and find you have a maggot factory setting up on your patch. With your electors taking severe umbrage.
I was that man.
All I want to know, was “Grant” involved in any way? Because, if so …