Atoll Via Asbo

Banished to a remote atoll, I subsisted on molluscs and rainwater. It was my own fault. I had been issued with one of the new-style Anti-Social Behaviour Orders. Now I would have many long years to reflect upon the consequences of brazenly smoking a cigarette at a bus stop, past which an endless parade of vehicles belched noxious fumes. It was, as they say, a fair cop, guv. I readily placed my wrists into the manacles presented by the Community Patrol Invigilation Cadet as I lay sprawled in the gutter following a salutary Tasering. My week in a befouled hulk anchored off the seaside was an enormous help. I was able for the first time to acknowledge the depth of my criminality. I can say, without dissembling, that I positively enjoyed the sensation of being tossed out of an aeroplane and descending, with the aid of an automatically-opening parachute, which I have since ripped up for bedding linen, onto my atoll. For it is, now, very much my atoll, where I subsist upon molluscs and rainwater, and my rapidly dwindling carton of untipped full strength Paraguayan cigarettes.

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