I had to go and visit a friend who works for a mental health trust based in one of those gothic old hospitals that still survive off London’s main drags.

I got lost and asked some bull-necked man-dog posing as a human if he knew where it was.

It took a few seconds for his head to turn in my direction like some slow moving tank turret.

“You mean the nutter hospital?” he said squinting at me with his little piggy eyes.

Yes, my good man. The nutter hospital. The place full of dribbling loons eating spiders and wiling their time away in padded cells.

And the ignorant dog-like homo sapiens shall inherit the earth and worship at the foot of the golden burger bar.

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