Hello, gentle listener, and welcome to Nocturnal Transmissions.

We are in the throes of what will be long remembered as an Anus Horribulus gentle listener.

Our humble narrator has informed me that anyone tuning in to our little production in this troubling time

is seeking escape and not my ill-qualified musings and analysis of the situation.

A little insulting, but I take the hint.

So, I shall forego my usual prevarication and self-indulgence

to deliver you directly into the arms of our featured story.

However, before I do, I would just like to say,

Be safe. Be hopeful. Be kind.

All right, that's my two cents worth.

Nocturnal transmissions is proud to present.

Dan Sewell's

The Slaughterman's Tale.

There had been many last hours in the slaughterhouse.

Now it was time for its own. Sydney, the longest serving slaughterman, was given the

honour of performing the final clean-down and turning off the lights. All the small

abattoirs were closing. Rationalisation or something. Sydney had slurred to the landlord Rupert the previous evening over his fifth pint at the

hearty good fellow.

All the work was going to an industrial-sized facility in Newark.

More machines and people.

Bloody Thatcher,

Sidney had concluded.

...