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‘Give me your dollars, pounds, shekels and pesetAs, Dad’, the boy demanded. Whatever Next? His dad, name of John Lewis, did this.

He went to Dissipation City, where he made a crowd of suspect friends such as Austin Reed, the Moss Bros, Laura, Ashley, plus Nat West and his buddy Harvey Nichols. They partied (eating Currys) and spent extravagantly, no-one minding their p’s and Q’S.

Dorothy Perkins, known as D, drank beer by the pint. The order given to the servant they thought of as the Bar-rat: ‘Tsk! I’ll just have a Half.’ Or D’s measure!’ This involved filling the glass beyond the brim – as was the practice of the house – and striking the foam away at rim level. This was called the House-off raser. They snorted a white powder, which they considered a Super drug.

The son even spent money on a graphic designer, trying to rework his monogram. ‘Put the upright of thiS A in S; bury some of the T…’ but he was suddenly Skint.

The entire population ran out of food (even Staples) and had only Water. Stones fell off them and many became an invaLid, losing too much weight from the Body.

Shopping around for a job, the boy ended up on a pig farm (this was not yet our caring PC World).

The boy would long to eat the pigs’ food (which came from a few Odd bins of mouldy scraps, and then would Come to his senses. ‘I know what I lIke. And I should return to my Habitat at Home base.’

What kept old man Lewis hoping during the long Wait; rose-tinted spectacles? No! Faith.

His father saw him coming over the blasted hill and down the Blooming dales; past the huge forest and the Little woods; along the River, Island-hopping. He ran to greet him and gave gifts.

The boy did up his new Dr Marten’s Boots – thereafter called the ‘bestoWal Martens’ – wondered about his brand new Liberty bodice, and delighted in his ring with an emerAld.

‘I love you, son,’ said his dad, having decided to negaTe scoldings. He called to his chef ‘Thomas, Cook the fatted calf.’

The dinner established a French Connection with vol au vents, wine, etc. Responsibilities: meat – Tom, the cook; rice – Ingrid; cakes (home-maDe) – Ben. Hams were not on the menu, obviously, but there was a lovely salad of leaves called a mescLun, ‘n’ polyanthus roses in a table centrepiece. Music was provided by a band with excellent rhytHM (Vocals by a chap named Gary, who made a big efFort): Numan. DM (a son’s new boots) were displayed with pride.

The boy’s older bother started to complain. ‘But he took dollars and shekels and Marks & Spen…’ Ceremonies and speeches interrupted him.

‘Just spread out little bits of cake in a sort of artistic crumB arc, lay some petals on the ground, and we can have hot cHar, rod-secured salMon soon. And, from these rotating, cooled dispensers, known as carouSel fridges, drinks with Ice.’

L and his wife announced: ‘My son – what a cheruB! H! Sing praises to God! – he’s a lad for whom I and his Mother care deeply. He was lost, but now, after a brief Gap, is found, thank Evans! Our family can forgive and reabsorB, & Quite soon. He was dead but is alive!’