Imposing factory edifice with frightening gargoyles. Ed Sheeran has been given five years on the production line for sniveling in a public area. They couldn't get the emotional blackmail rap to stick, would have gone straight downstairs to the foundry.
Sheeran, dressed in his worker overalls, is conducted through the front door by a guard. He has an insipid and obvious thought, decides to speak it out loud: 'Well, at least we're out of the rain.'
In an instant the guard has Sheeran in a half-nelson, pushed up against the wall.
'You listen here, you son of a bitch, this is the end of the goddam world! There ain't no forests left no more, no fish in the sea. The midlands is a sandstorm, gettit?'
'I'm sorry...din't mean t--' Pressure is applied to his back.
'And don't you dare try that goddam being nice bullshit with me either. Least of all the virtues – that's what my old man used to say; sure as shit useless in here. This is the end of the goddam world!'
A row of workers lined up along a conveyor belt. They are sitting on plastic stools. A guard with a nightstick patrols up and down at their backs. Sheeran is taken down the line to find an unoccupied place. Suddenly one of the workers falls back, flops at his feet. It is Newton Faulkner.
'Water... I just want water... oh, hi Ed.'
'Newton! What are you in for?'
'They caught me performing a sort of rap on my acoustic guitar. It references Deal or No Deal and Sainsbury's three-bean tortilla wrap. “Diminishing and demoralising the collective human soul” the judge said.'
The guard pushes Ed Sheeran in the back. 'Move along!' Faulkner takes one, then two in the kisser from the guard with the nightstick.
Sheeran finds his place. Slices of ham move quickly past him on a conveyor belt. He isn't sure what is expected of him. The slices of ham blur into one another so that soon there is just an endless strip of ham passing before his eyes, left to right in perpetuity.Five years later he is released, relatively unchanged.