Piglet pressed his little nose close to the farmer’s window. How things had changed since those wicked people had been loaded onto the back of a lorry and sent to the free market and the farm requisitioned Inside comrade leader Corbyn sat rigid with fear at a large mahogany desk. In the corner piglets dressed in leather were chanting, ‘truth are lies, lies are truth’ over an over again until they collapsed into an exhausted heap. Comrade Corbyn turned to a sinister looking pig in dark clothes who was obsessed with clipboard held tightly in his left trotter.
‘Comrade John. I am concerned, deeply concerned. Why are so many animals disappearing and where are they going?’
‘Oh, they are the traitors and capitalist running dogs who want to undermine the Pig’s revolution. They are being re educated in a camp on Canvey Island. This collective will not be free until everyone has learned to love you comrade leader.’
‘And what of the Tories in the turkey shed?’
At this comrade John gave an hysterical high pitched laugh which chilled the room into a terrified silence.
‘Oh let’s leave them to their own devices’, he hissed. ‘Even as we speak they are voting for Christmas’.

Piglet was intrigued. The Tory turkey shed was just a short trot way, right next to an evil smelling factory which emitted stinking clouds of putrid smoke. Attached to the factory entrance was a sign proudly announcing, ‘welcome to the promised land’.

Piglet peered into the shed. There was much shouting and ruffling of feathers. An old turkey covered from head to toe in black and white stripes began to speak.
‘The turkeys of Great Britain have spoken in unprecedented numbers. They have demanded that we leave this farm and move into the promised land in time for Christmas, which is so near it is within touching distance. Naysayers and doom mongers tell us that the promised land is nothing more than a factory which stuns, kills and eventually stuffs us. What lies!! I Have been assured by our chief negotiator, Mr. Bernard Mathews, a well known friend of turkeys, that this is just project fear. That behind those doors is a land of milk and honey, of unprecedented turkey opportunities. A land fit for turkeys. So let’s rise up against these traitors and saboteurs. Turkeys have demanded Christmas and they want it now, not on a transitional basis. Now, now, now! Join me my fellow turkeys and vote for an early Christmas!!!

Newly hatched chicks looked at each other with tears of joy streaming onto their little beaks. And they began a chant which turned into a crescendo.
‘Mogg, Mogg, we want Mogg. Save us oh mighty Mogg’.

Rheumy eyed old birds shook their heads in sadness and shuffled out into the night, never to return.
All this confused little piglet. For it was obvious to everyone that the promised land was no more than a turkey factory. If he could see it why couldn’t they?

As he pondered this earth shattering question two enormous swine dressed in leather and carrying large clubs seized him by two trotters.
‘You should be in your sty. Comrade leader has decreed that no animal should be out at night. You are a spy. A traitor an enemy of the pig’s revolution. Come with us.’

Poor piglet was never to be seen again.