There are certain phrases that deserve a nod of recognition when they prove to be literally true: anyone who’s ever dug such a big hole that they hit the rock bottom will know what I’m talking about. Or if you’ve ever stood at a ferry terminal realising that you have, in fact, missed the boat. Perhaps this Easter you will unpack your shopping, covered in a slimy, clear film, and understand the error of putting all your eggs in one basket. Personally, I have found myself swimming through actual shit.
Not just once, either. Not by a long chalk. Over the past 37 years, I have probably swum through enough sewage to fill a river. Because, you see, it does fill our rivers. And seas. And lakes. And the little streams that snake behind housing estates, and the pools that have the audacity to sit beside poorly maintained pipes. Such is the problem that you would be hard pressed to find any body of water in Britain that a privatised water company hasn’t flushed with turds now and again in the quest for ever-greater profits.
