In a scoop that has sent shockwaves through the chattering classes, the BBC has dispatched a crack team of presenters to the heart of the Ebola outbreak. Their mission: to discover the untold story of joy in the midst of a haemorrhagic hellscape. And by God, they found it.
Local correspondent Barnaby 'Biff' Thistlethwaite reports from a makeshift clinic in Sierra Leone, where the air smells of bleach and desperation. But listen closely, dear reader. Through the groans of the afflicted, one can hear a faint, rhythmic sound. It is laughter. Yes, laughter.
'They're a cheerful bunch, really,' confirmed a UK aid worker, sipping a G&T from a chalice made of recycled medical waste. 'We've found that administering gin alongside the standard rehydration salts works wonders. It doesn't cure the virus, but it does make the final days a proper knees-up.'
The BBC's cameras, carefully positioned to avoid any unsightly images of actual suffering, capture a patient named Kofi waving weakly from his cot. 'I've never felt more alive,' he rasps, before breaking into a fit of coughs that sound suspiciously like 'God Save the King'.
Aid agency spokesperson Prudence Featherstone-Haugh put a brave face on the tragedy. 'We're not just fighting Ebola. We're fighting the stigma. And what better way to destigmatise a deadly virus than with a bit of a boogie? We've installed a disco ball in the isolation ward. It's viral, but in a good way.'
The BBC's coverage has drawn criticism from some quarters, with one medical expert calling it 'a grotesque parody of humanitarian journalism'. But the Beeb remains unapologetic. 'We're telling the story the mainstream media ignore,' said a source. 'The story of hope. And also of gin. Mostly gin.'
As I file this report, I can hear the distant strains of 'Don't Stop Believin'' from the clinic. It is, I must admit, a welcome change from the sound of retching. But let us not forget, behind every smiling Ebola patient is a family preparing a funeral. Or, as the aid workers might say, a bloody good party.
So raise a glass to the BBC, the United Kingdom's finest purveyors of feel-good catastrophe. They've proved that even in the face of a pandemic, a stiff upper lip and a stiffer drink can see you through. Cheers, you bastards. Cheers.
