High society by Ben Elton

Ah’ve screwed up ma life, confessing, Ah suppose…Ah used to go to confession when Ah was a wee girl — Ah was a good Catholic then — every week: forgive me, Father, Ah stole some sweeties, forgive me, Father, Ah put glue on my teacher’s chair, forgive me, Father, but Ah must be bad because ma stepfather says it’s ma fault what we dae together…Sorry, I’m rambling, Ah didnae mean to say that. Ah hate other people’s hard luck stories, it just came out. To tell you the truth, Ah’m still a bit wasted…’
    Jessie’s eyes were far away, the pupils almost invisible. The volunteer worker offered her more coffee, but she seemed not to hear.
    ‘As long as Ah live nothin’ will ever feel as good as the first time that Ah took heroin. On the other hand, back then when Ah took it nothing had ever felt worse than being’ me. When Francois stuck that needle in ma arm Ah stopped hurting. Instantly years and years of pain and fear disappeared. Everything that had happened to me at home and on the streets went away. The months I spent freezing to death around Charing Cross, the fear, the cold, the hunger, the never-ending loneliness of living like a rat among rats was all ancient history. Ah laid back and truly believed Ah was in heaven. Then of course Ah woke up in hell. Ah can’t believe it was only three months ago. Ah think Ah’ve used up most of the rest of my life since then.’

THE PAGET HOUSEHOLD, DALSTON
    W hen Peter arrived home shortly after 2 a.m. he brought the early editions of the morning papers with him. Angela was in bed but still awake and they devoured the coverage of the Brits together. ‘It’s amazing,’ Angela said. ‘You’re in every single one.’ Inevitably most of the reportage concerned Tommy and his antics, but Peter was definitely prominent amongst the lesser figures.
    ‘Well, it’s not every humble backbencher who gets hugged by an ex-Spice Girl.’
    ‘What’s she like?’
    ‘Emma Bunton?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘Gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous.’
    ‘I can see that, Peter. What’s she like?’
    ‘So sweet. I mean genuinely nice, not remotely starry. I must write and thank her. Let’s face it, it’s her that’s got me all these photos.’
    ‘Well, she does look lovely.’
    ‘But the great thing is all the articles mention my bill and my having seen Tommy Hanson to talk about it. I was worried that they’d spin the Brits against me. If there’s one thing the press hate it’s politicians trying to look cool.’
    ‘Yes, but drugs is such a youth issue.’
    ‘Exactly, and I’m making the PM uncomfortable, which the press always like. I really do seem to have caught the public mood or at least the mood of the younger generation. Oh, and I forgot to tell you, they’ve asked me to go on Newsnight as well as Question Time.’
    ‘Well, so you damn well should. It’s so obvious you’re right. You’re the only politician talking any sense on the issue at all. I mean, look at Prohibition in the States: total failure. All it did was invent Al Capone. There’s no point banning things people want, because they’ll get them anyway.’
    ‘Exactly, an absolute no-brainer.’
    ‘You’re not going to use that phrase in public, are you?’
    T certainly am. I got it from Samantha. It’s useful having somebody vaguely hip around.’
    ‘I thought you said she was a serious sort of a girl.’
    ‘She is, but you can be hip and serious as well, can’t you? Look at Dido.’
    ‘She’s very beautiful.’
    ‘Who? Dido?’
    ‘Samantha.’
    ‘Not my type.’ He wondered how well he’d played it. Probably a little too quickly. ‘Anyway, youth is always attractive. She’ll be a grim-faced, twenty-stone junior minister in fifteen years’ time.’ Too much, way too much. First rule of politics: when you are in a hole, stop digging.
    ‘I’ll have to be up early tomorrow. I’m going to King’s Cross. They’re showing me round a drop-in centre they have there, then I’m having