I got lost in the forest near my house while walking the dog the other week. The path I was on, and which I thought I knew, narrowed until it was scarcely a path at all. The trees closed in and brambles tore at my legs. Somewhere, high above, I could hear the importuning mew of a buzzard. And then I reached a small clearing where the tall grass and the broom had been flattened. There were signs that a fire had been lit in the centre, and there were the shadows of human footprints in the hard earth.
I immediately felt sick inside — for I knew exactly and without question what this was. It had been the site of a satanic paedo-phile orgy involving our former prime minister Sir Edward Heath. Heaven knows how many children had lost their lives in this tiny glade in Kent during a foul and emetic bacchanal. I saw, with sudden clarity, Heath stripped naked and — in a voice familiar to millions of unsuspecting decent, Christian British people — invoking the Dark One as he dangled some poor child over the fire after he and his deranged, shrieking cabal had had their wicked way with it.
You evil bastard, Heath, I thought to myself. You evil, evil man. We thought of you as a statesman and an organist who quite liked yachting. Now, after all this time, we at last know what you really liked. Satan and killing children.
I had read about these goings-on in one of our daily newspapers. A group of women have made allegations that a paedophile ring linked to Heath had murdered at least 16 children during satanic orgies in forests in the south east of England.

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