Pigs are despised by much of humankind,
regarded as disgusting, gross in habit,
dirty, smelly, lazy, and completely
lacking in all finer sensibilities.
Much like you and me.
They are, however, tolerated. Kept apart from
upright humans in pig ghettos they do nothing
productive, don1t go to work or earn a living.
They wallow and they eat, copulate when they can
and shit themselves.
Feel familiar?
This is the tale of a pig called Ham
(his real name, actually, was Colin);
and like all pig tails, there’s a twist in it,
at the end. And in the middle. And at the beginning -
in fact the whole tale’s pretty twisted, but then
Colin – I mean Ham – was a pig.
Now, like most pigs Ham was misunderstood
most of his tragically short life. His Mum said
“Colin, why ever do you want to be a pig?”
His Dad said “Can1t you get a proper Job,
or get the dole and nick stuff, like yer mates?”
Colin just grunted; behind his piggy eyes
there was a dream of truffles.
So one day Colin – Ham – became a pig.
What a day!
One moment he’s an ordinary bloke,
as far as you could tell, and then Kerpow!
he’s turned into a pig. Well, poor bloke,
it could happen to anyone,
I mean, there but for the grace of God,
know what I mean?
Know what I mean?
So Ham became an outcast. He left home
and moved into the local sty. And there
he found it wasn’t bad. Regular meals,
the company of lots of other pigs,
and no decisions!
What to wear? No problem
When to go to bed? No problem!
When to get up? No problem!
What to drink? No problem!
What to think? No problem!
Recognise it?
Anyway, Ham loved it.
And he met
a pig-ette
and they fell in love.
And Ham loved her, in his piggish way,
and I guess she must have loved him back, because….
but I’m getting ahead of myself.
So far everything’s gone according to pattern,
allowing for Colin’s amazing sudden transformation into Ham the pig.
Now comes the nasty part.
It was Christmas eve in the pighouse,
the snow was falling thick,
a lump of ice slid down his neck
and nearly froze his ….
No.
Then one foggy Christmas eve
Santa called to say
Ham, Shem and Japhet (they were the pigs on duty)
There’s a hold up at the off licence on the corner!
So off they go, hot-trot ting it to Unwins
where a couple of punks are executing a seasonal robbery.
Imagine the scene. The artificial snow’s
thick on the window, framing the bottles of cheap whisky,
and a brightly coloured cardboard Santa.
Inside, the punks have the frightened storekeeper at gunpoint.
In leaps fearless Ham, grunts: “Make my day,scum”.
One of the punks turns round and says to Ham:
“Have an early Christmas present, pig!”
BANG!
Next day was Christmas day.
Some of the nurses wore paper hats,
and paper chains criss-crossed the ward,
and the quack by Ham’s bed was reading a piece of paper.
“Hey, Doc,” said Ham, “Tell me what I got?”
“You got paraplegia.” said the doc.
“Is that like scrabble?” asked Ham.
“More like Trivial Puruits.” said the doc.
“But that’s boring and goes on for ever.” said Ham.
Oh dear! Poor Ham.
He’s paralised
And he learns a lot of new songs,
Like -
“Nobody wants a paraplegic copper.”
and -
“It’s hard to be macho in a wheelchair.”
and -
“Who’s going to take you home tonight, Kathleen,”
But,
meanwhile
something else has been going on. Every cloud
has got a silver lining, Don’t you agree?
Our Ham has lost
sensation and motor ability from his belly button down,
bladder control
bowel control
and he can’t get it up any more,
But,
HE’S BECOME A NATIONAL HERO!!!
Yes,
the papers are full of it.
Ham’s a second Jesus!
You’d think Christmas was to celebrate Ham!
The journalists have made our pig a hero.
“Plucky pig paralysed by punk’s pistol!”
“Saddleback’s seasonal supermarket sacrifice!”
“Hail to hero Ham!”
And Ham vows a piggy vow that wows the media:
“I won’t give up until I trot again!”
They love it. Double, treble-hero Ham!
Poor Ham.
We all make ourselves that promise, but we’re not all media heroes,
and we quietly or not so quietly come to terms
with the fact that we won”t.
Yeah?
But not Ham, He was a pig,
famous throughout the land for bravery,
Would he give up? Never,
Well, we all say that, don’t we?
But, poor Ham, could he give up?
Not and stay a pig.
Whoever heard of a paraplegic pig?
The senior pigs certainly hadn’t, and they told him so,
That’s not an easy one to take, is it?
Moreover,
Ham’s brave fight to trot again
had captured the heart of the tabloid-reading people.
Business-people sent in cheques, schoolkids
did sponsored walks, pensioners went hungry
to raise enough for Harn to get a cure.
But there isn1t one, is there?
And Ham was in deep trouble.
Nobody knows how long Ham carried on
after he’d given up hope.
Nobody knows how long he acted out his public part
after he knew it wasn’t going to work.
Nobody knows.
But what we do know is this.
He stopped seeing his pig-fiancee.
He stopped seeing his mates,
He got withdrawn and bitter.
One day
in his nice, lonely, adapted bungalow,
he blew his head off with a shotgun.
Poor Ham,
Let’s have a moment’s silence for our departed pig comrade,
But…….
These things happen.
If not everyday
then often enough not to be remarkable
and if the story ended there I wouldn’t have bothered to tell it.
No, there’s more –
the worst is yet to come,
Not for Ham -he’s well out of it;
but for us.
Because,
do you know what they said in the papers,
in those fucking papers that made Ham a hero?
They said
“Hero Ham’s Last Heroic Act.”
“Hero Ham’s last Heroic Act.”
And I thought,
as I collected all that day’s tabloids
with mounting horror,
“It” that makes Ham a Hero,
what does it make me?”
And I thought,
aa I looked at the pictures of dead Ham,
“They’re saying he’s better off dead!
So what do they think of me?”