I Wiped My Arse On The Daily Mail

I WIPED MY ARSE ON THE 'DAILY MAIL' by Neil McCall

I wiped my arse on the "Daily Mail", then watched it flutter across the
frozen field. I asked the boss whether or not this was good English,
and he laughed and said I'd go far. I'm hoping this wasn't some kind of
threat, as I've gone as far as I want, which is England. The field is
full of carrots, and I have to pull them up, which is very difficult as
the ground is like rock. Also until the first break in the morning and
for the last spell in the evening I have to feel for them in the dark,
the boss says we can't afford to have too many lights showing. The boss
seems very afraid of something, maybe the police, although I was told
that you don't need to be afraid of the police in England; one day he
received what he called a "tip-off" and we all had to hide in a small
shed for hours until whoever it was went away. There aren't any toilets
out in the fields so it was very hard, and we missed our meal break. I
have a watch, a proper English watch, but I normally tell the time by
the trains, which everyone seems to find funny. The first train which
passes my field each morning goes to Norwich, and I envy the people
inside who look warm and comfortable, most of them have even taken
their coats off; if I did that here I think I'd die of cold. But they
don't look happy, you'd think the train was non-stop to the secret
police headquarters and not to cosy schools and offices in Norwich. If
I was on that train wearing a nice suit and going to earn ten pounds an
hour I think I'd be singing all the way there even if, as the boss
says, there's a late connection at Ely or a points failure in Thetford
most days.
The men who've worked here longer than me say it gets better in the
summer when there's peas and fruit to pick and you can lie on soft warm
soil eating strawberries, and at least you're allowed a few for
yourself; that sounds better than carrots covered in ice! But they tell
me it's going to get colder before it gets warmer, which I find hard to
imagine, also they say the days are already getting longer, but I
haven't noticed yet. I hope I can stay here for ever like the friend
from my village back home; he works in a factory in Leicester and he
says that now he can leave and get a better job any time he wants; when
he went for the asylum interview he showed them the scars and started
crying so they let him stay and then he cried even more. I don't cry
easily and I haven't got any scars so I don't think I'd be so lucky,
especially after what the "Daily Mail" has been saying about us, all I
can say is those English people might love carrots but they don't seem
to want to come and pull them out of the frozen ground in a field with
no toilets.
The Norwich train didn't run today, and neither did the next one; I
mentioned it to the boss who told me it was Christmas Day and there's
no trains at all because all the work places and schools are closed and
so are the big shops. I asked if we could have the day off as well, or
maybe get some extra pay but he just laughed and said again that I'd go
far. Then he handed me the "Daily Mail" and I read the front page, then
went and squatted in a corner of the carrot field and wiped my arse on
it.