The System: Series 2: Step 1: Wilderness Survival for Beginners

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Close your eyes. Go on. Not going to hurt you. So, picture this. It's the future. 2052, let's say. And it's amazing. There are trees everywhere, in streams. Walking through a town feels like walking through the woods. It's a bit like Middle Earth without the orcs and all the boring bits. There are hardly any cars.

But no one minds because public transport is amazing. And free. And there are cycle lanes everywhere. And everything you need is only a 15 minute walk anyway. Shops, cafes, swimming lakes. And there's no need to be rushing about because everyone only works three days a week. And the houses are beautiful.

Built to last from natural materials, well-insulated solar panels, gardens with little polytunnels full of fruit and veg, goats and chickens, if you're into all that. There's no homelessness or poverty or social media. But it's not boring. Oh no, there's still TV and games and films and music. And even better, there's big parties all the time. Like, once every six weeks.

Great big festivals with live music and dancing and too much drink and food. But no one gets bald at 3am outside a kebab shop. And best of all, the world is not about to end. Everything is under control. Temperature has stabilized. The caps have stopped melting. Balance has been achieved. Sounds good, doesn't it? It's possible. It's all possible. If that's what we want. So, how the hell do we make it happen? The system. Or...

How to save the world in five easy steps. Step one. Wilderness survival for beginners. Present day. Two people are waking up in a barn in the middle of nowhere. A brother and sister. They're on the run from the law. Depending on your point of view, they're either dangerous terrorists or a couple of naive kids who got messed up in something they don't understand. For a second, I think I'm back in it.

My comfy old bed. I'm at one of the world's best universities and the future is mine for the taking. Then I realise I'm on a bale of straw. My feet are freezing. There's a rat scrabbling in the corner. Fast asleep, his eyes are twitching, deep in some dream. Maybe he's back in his bed too. Ow! Jesus, Jake! Sorry. Maya, I'm so sorry. Are you OK? The door at the other end of the barn suddenly swings open. Run! Exactly 24 hours earlier. Someone else is waking up.

on a super king-size memory foam mattress. But not just anyone. The 13th Earl of Rothbury, Member of Parliament, decorated army captain, financier, father of six... but also a 57-year-old man kept up half the night by an enlarged prostate and an unrelated feeling of dread. Recently sacked as junior minister in the Department of the Environment, Food and Rural Affairs,

To be a junior minister at 57 was bad enough, but to be sacked, he looks over at his third wife, snoring softly. If his career's over, he might as well do what he enjoys, right? Getting up at 6am on a Saturday and putting on plus fours. Showered, dressed, shivering in the freezing cold. Is this actually what he enjoys? The lad comes with his guns. What's his name?

Jackson, Macaulay, something that should be a surname. Later, standing in the horseshoe of other men, all in their fifties, all in plus fours, mosties known since childhood, a slug of whiskey in his stomach. Some very much unwoke chat with the boys. He trudges off, the gun in his hand. This is what it's all about. Then, a fat black shape in the sky. Bollocks. Missed.

He hands the gun to the lad for reloading. What is his name? Thompson Wentworth. He looks up at the trees, puts his hand out for the rifle, but it doesn't come when he looks round.

The lad is pointing the gun right at him. Tyler. That's his name. Little shit. We're walking along the edge of a field. First signs of a black eye developing on Maya's face. Another thing to feel bad about. Did you know that in England we're only allowed on something like 8% of the land? Are we? Yep. Anywhere else? Trespass. How do you remember all this stuff? Trained myself.

The UK has only 53% of its biodiversity remaining. Around four people a year are killed by cows. Doesn't even matter if it's not completely true. But those are sheep, so I think we're okay. I can't do this. Yeah, let's just take a minute. He'll have the rest of his twits. No. I'm not hungry. I think we should hand ourselves in. Jake. Well, me. I'm the one they want. I'll go and hand myself in. I'm not doing this alone. I keep it.

seeing his face. It's okay. It's not okay. We haven't done anything wrong. Yes, we have. We've done loads of things wrong. We didn't kill anyone. She did that. I've attacked people. I've assaulted people. Only... A bit. I practically put Alex in a coma. We evaded arrest. You stole a police car. To stop them from doing something even worse. Yeah, and we failed. You are not allowed to have a breakdown. Do you hear me? You are strictly forbidden from going full PTSD.

You were just gonna have to... Stiff up a little bit for now. Pretend it's 1945 and repress, repress, repress, repress, repress. Okay? Fine. Good. Now let's walk. Pretend that we're on holiday. Not a good holiday, obviously. It's February half-time, you're 14 years old, and we're on our way to a pub for our half of shandies and beef crisps.

And now, the 13th Earl of Rothbury is lying in the boot of a car with a black bag over his head. He is trying to control his breathing. Sandhurst was a long time ago. He hopes I'm training with kicking. Some muscle memory, but his first instinct was just to submit. Is this how it ends? Beheaded on YouTube in some dripping basement? It would certainly spice up his Wikipedia entry.

The boots pulled open. A rush of cold air. Another car. Another car. A third. Would it be wrong to fall asleep? Is it wrong to use being kidnapped to catch up on sleep? The boot opens. Cold air. The sound of water. These lead over gravel. The wooden boards of a jetty. Down into a boat. Where the hell are they going? We're in a market town.

Somewhere in Gloucestershire, I think. What about him? Red trousers, barber jacket, he can definitely afford it. Maybe he's bankrupt. Maybe he lost everything because... He's an alcoholic because he was traumatised by all his tours of duty in Afghanistan, saving children from the Taliban. We're sitting on a bench with our hoods up. Our clothes are filthy. My black eye is developing nicely. I guess we look like homeless drug addicts.

Maybe it's good cover, if anyone's even looking for us. OK, what about her? She's got loads of shopping bags. What, maybe their presents for a recently widowed mum who's all alone with her cats? What? We need money.

How do we even get it? What, club them over the head and drag them into the bushes? I don't know. I've never mugged anyone before. Oh, so now we're muggers. Terrorist muggers. This is how it happens, Maya. One bad thing leads to another, and in your head it's all justified. Two men are walking towards us. Large. Built.

They're not in uniform, but there's something about the way they're moving, the focus, the attempt to look casual. Jake, look. Let's go. We get up and walk. The men are following. Run. We peg it. Down a side road. Jake in front. One of the men is right behind me, metres away. I try to speed up. He's grabbing my arm, yanking me back. I fall to the ground and he's on me, kneeling on my back, pulling my wrists up behind me. Jake turns back.

A moment of hesitation. He doesn't want to be that guy, but... Now the other man has caught up. Jake takes a few steps forward. For a moment, I think he's given in. Then he flies up, his boot in the guy's jaw, sending him backwards. The other dude launches himself at Jake. They're on the ground, tussling. What do I do? Smash a flower pot over his head?

I look around, but Jake is grabbing me and we run, turning down random roads and through gardens and fields until we're out of the suburbs. Finally, we slump down in the corner of some field. Not mugging anyone. Okay. Okay. So maybe we need to think of something more victimless. Like what? Corporate fraud?

What? Where are the Cotswolds? The 13th Earl of Rothbury lies in the cabin of the boat, drifting in and out of consciousness. He is transported to other boat trips. His first honeymoon, fishing with his dad. The motor switches off. The boat thunks up against something. Hands pull him upwards. Two men speaking another language.

What is that? Danish? Finnish? He is led off the boat onto a small jetty. Gravel, grass, and then into a building. Floorboards, carpet, stairs. The cable ties at his wrists are snipped. A door shuts. The click of a lock. He shakes his hands loose. Tentatively, he reaches up and takes the bag off his head. A room. A bed. A chair. Bare boards. A rug. All pretty anonymous. But in front of him, a plate of food. Smells good. Is that samphire? Another country lane. The outskirts of some village.

We jumped the barriers at a little train station. Luckily, the train was empty. Just an old lady who moved carriages to get away from us. Okay, okay. This, this looks kind of familiar. What are we looking for exactly? Um... big gates like a long gravel driveway i can't remember i was in a cab and it was dark and i was extremely high so this might not even be the right village yeah i mean it definitely has the right

Vive. What are you going to do when you get there? I'll figure it out. What if there's security? I'll be super charming. Or so charming they don't notice your black eye and the fact that you've stinted. Yes, there it is. A big set of wrought iron gates, a brass plated intercom and the lens of a camera.

Just stay here. Just stay outside. She takes a moment, looks at her reflection in the buzzer, tries to tease some hair over her black eye. It doesn't work that well. Hello? Oh, hi. Is Allegra there? No. Oh. Are you sure? Yes, I'm sure. Oh, that's weird. This is her friend Maya. I'm supposed to be staying with her? She's not here. This is Sunday, right? Yes. She barely looks at the camera. The opposite of desperate. Why does she always do this? I didn't know she was coming. God, she's a dick.

Can you let me in so I can wait for her? My phone's died and it's actually really cold out here and I'm literally about to wet myself. She slips inside, giving me a black-eyed wink as she goes. The 13th Earl of Rothbury sits at the table. He looks at the empty plate, the smear of delicately balanced sauce. Maybe he hasn't been kidnapped at all. Maybe it's a surprise trip to a luxury food and wellness retreat.

The door clicks open. A young woman is standing there. Skinny, pale skin, short hair, baggy clothes, no makeup. As if she's deliberately tried to make herself look as unattractive as possible. Hello. I'm sitting in the bushes waiting for Maya. I'm knackered. But every time I close my eyes I see Alex's face. Jess lifting the gun to his head. Suddenly a big shiny hybrid is pulling up. The door opens.

Get in then. Are you out of your mind? I've got plenty of other ones. Come on. This is insane. I liberated a few other items as well. Like what? Don't worry about it. Her dad is pretty much an oligarch. So we're like Robin Hood? Yeah. This is all basically stolen from the developing world. Are you enjoying this? No. I mean, it's definitely not boring. The 13th Earl of Rothbury is playing it cool, but there's a vein throbbing on his forehead. Who are you?

I shouldn't really tell you that. Who's behind all this? I shouldn't really tell you that either. So what can you tell me? That your meal was all locally and sustainably sourced. Did you enjoy it? It was delicious. Good. I feel like you taste it when it's not full of chemicals or it hasn't travelled for miles. Why am I here? Think of it as an opportunity. For what? For you to take some time out.

Reflect. I'm just here to look after you. Make sure you have everything you need. Do you have everything you need? What's to stop me overpowering you? What's to stop me overpowering you and going out of that door? Some big men. Do you think you could overpower ten big men? And it wouldn't be like an action film when they conveniently come one by one. Have you ever noticed that? If there's a lone hero and a big group of baddies...

For some reason, they all have a go one by one. What is that? It's like Queensbury rules or something. Gentleman's code. Well, it wouldn't be like that. They'd all come at you at once. They'd pin you down. And then... I don't know, break a leg or something. Oh, and then, even if you did manage to get past all of them, if they did suddenly decide to abide by their taking turns one by one gentlemen's attack rules,

Well, then you'd have a lot of very cold and rough water to contend with. How do I know you're telling the truth? You don't. So, yeah, we could just have a go. You could grab one of my pale spindly arms. You could pin me to the floor. You could snap a feeble little woman's neck. Did they teach you that at Sunhurst? Did they teach you how to break a woman's neck in the most efficient way possible? And what did they teach you there?

Do they teach you how to kill? Who are you? I'm just here to meet all of your needs. Like a secretary. Or a concierge. Or a maid. Can you get your coffee? An espresso? Cup of tea? I know you don't like the fancy stuff. I've got some PG tips in if you fancy. No? Well, maybe you should just get some rest then. Gather your thoughts, get your wits about you. He'll need them.

I am bossing this. Course I am. Really thick people are criminals. Why wouldn't I be able to turn shit around and make the best out of her life on the run? With the stuff from Allegra's house, I have managed to secure... from the dodgiest pawnbroker in Sirencester, a cool £400. It's not much, but we are now heading south to the coast. Okay, I've got a plan. Jake, I've got a plan.

Don't get angry. He's probably got PTSD. He's had a hard time. Stay calm and positive. So there was this dude in my college who dropped out, Mickey. He was, like, really into microdosing before anyone knew what microdosing was. But I'm not sure how micro some of those doses were. Anyway, so he lives in this alternative community in Sweden. It's off-grid. I think they'll get it.

You can totally unravel there. And I mean, if you do have PTSD, psychedelics are really the thing for that now. So, we go to the coast, we get a boat to France or Belgium, and then we make our way. Oh, 400 quid. We'll work it out. Okay? You've got this far for little faith, okay? Okay, Jake? Look, I am trying so hard to keep it together here, okay?

Do you think this is easy for me? Do you think I don't sometimes regret the fact that I basically threw my life away for you? That I gave up on my future and gave myself a criminal record? Do you think that doesn't occasionally just run through my head? I didn't ask you to. What?

I didn't ask you to do any of it. I wanted to. It was my choice. Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I love you. You're my brother. Half-brother. Jake, I want us to keep going. But if you don't, you can just get out. What? Get out of the car and go and turn yourself in and go to prison forever. Fine. I want a future. So what's it going to be, bro? Sharpen drive. The Earl sits in his chair. His eyes are closed and he's barely moved. But that vein is still throbbing. Door opens.

Would you like to come this way? Do I have a choice? He steps out of the room into a narrow corridor hung with black cloths. There is no one there. No ten huge men, just the pale young woman. She gestures for him to follow and they start to walk down the corridor. Did you get some rest? Yes, thank you. He leans into her ear. You don't have to do this, you know. Really? There are ways out. There are always ways out.

Will you help me? I'm sure I can help you, or I will certainly know people that can. Do you think I could... What? It's all right, you can say it. Do you think I could... Be a princess. I'd really like to be a princess. What? Who do you think I am? I have no idea. Look at me. Look at my face. Don't you know me? They pause in the dark corridor. He looks at her face, her pale green eyes, no trace of makeup. She meets his gaze, totally emotionless. Have you worked it out? I...

Meet a lot of people. I'm sure you do. Why don't you stop mucking about and tell me what the hell's going on? Ooh, his lordship seems to be losing his temper. Who are you? Oh, calm down, dear. All will be revealed. It's not a bloody game. I've been kidnapped. I've been held at gunpoint. Do you know, it's actually maybe not a bad idea to think of it as a game. What? Well, you like games, don't you? You know, games and sports. It's a big part of your upbringing.

Muscular Christianity. Healthy competition. Doesn't that bring out the best in people? You know, take the Cornslite packet, give it a good hard shake. Or is it only when you know the rules? When you've got all the equipment, the gear, the get-op, the kit, les accoutrements. It's not so much fun when you don't know the rules, is it? But don't worry. Sure, you'll work it out.

They have taken several turns and arrived at a door. She opens it. Right. Would you like to take a seat, Your Lordship? This is the same room. We've just walked in a circle. Very well observed. Gold star for you. But some changes have been made. See if you can spot them. On the table, a ring light and a phone in a little tripod, set to record. What's going on?

The young woman gestures again for him to take a seat. Sit down, Dickie. Don't call me that. I do beg your pardon. Would you like to take a seat, Your Lordship? We've been working the marinas for a couple of hours now. But turns out men with big fancy boats want more than 350 quid to take you illegally across the Channel to France. Turns out they're more likely to laugh in your face or threaten to call the police. Hey! Any luck?

Not yet, but there's a few more to try. Maybe we could head north. Where to? Scotland. Get the ferry to Ireland. You can't get anywhere from Ireland. It's the wrong end of the country. We need to get to the continent. Maybe we could sell the car. Why isn't this working? It's okay. It's okay. It's okay. We're going to find another way. Hello? Who's that? It's one of the yacht dudes. Hi there! She heads over to him.

A guy in his late 60s, grey hair, fleece. Not your average people trafficker. Looks more like a vicar. She gestures for me to come. I follow them along the marina. Why do I have a bad feeling about this? Grants back. No one around. The sun is going down. What other choice do we have? Now Father Ted's helping her down a ramp onto the boat. A great big black and white thing. And what's it called in swirly black writing? But escape.

A bit on the nose, but I take one last look back at the mainland. Then I step onto the ramp and walk down over the sea and onto the deck. The 13th Earl of Rothbury sits in his chair. The ring light bright and warm on his face. His still handsome face. Thanks to the strong jawline. The aquiline nose. Not to mention all that lovely money.

The expensive moisturiser Dagmara buys him which he pretends not to want but carefully applies every night. But on his temple, the vein is pulsing. So, is someone going to tell me what's going on here? Yes. Well, come on, then. Who's in charge here? Who's running this thing? Oh, are you asking to see my land manager? Are you looking to escalate your grievance? Yes, I bloody am. Unfortunately, that's not possible.

You're going to have to deal with me. Who are you? Well, you can call me Jess. Because that is my name. My actual name. Well, then. Jess, I'd be extremely grateful if you could tell me what the point of all this is. Of course. You're on trial. This is the trial of Captain Richard Dunning, 13th Earl of Rothbury, MP, CEO, father of six, and owner of an undetermined amount of land and wealth. Under whose authority? The people's, but mainly mine.

Well, I don't accept that authority. You have no legal jurisdiction. You're nobody. Maybe not in your world. But you're in my world now. We're offshore. We are out of bounds. Like you're at it. Hidden away. Secret. In the shadows. This is the Shadowland. With a shadow court. And I am Lady Justice. And what exactly am I on trial for? Well, let's call them crimes against humanity. We are cruising away from the coast. Clive is at the tiller.

a retired finance director from Hampshire. This is his pride and joy. I don't really understand why he's agreed to ferry two losers across the channel, but hey, don't look at Give Tools, right? The wind is in my hair, the stars are shining, an off-grid Swedish future awaits. Hey, Clive says it's going to get rough. We should go down below. I'm okay here. Well, he was pretty insistent.

Fine. We cross the deck and climb down into the cabin below. Oh shit. My eyes adjust to the dim light. A large magnolia fitted sofa. A woman is sitting in the middle of it. Mid-thirties. Put together, shiny hair, bit like a newsreader. Perched at either end. The two guys who chased us in the market town. Many hours ago, a video dropped online. But only now are people starting to notice. Posted by someone going by the Lord of Misrule. A frozen image. An avatar. A blocky head.

And on its face, a mask. A grinning mouth, black dots for eyes, and jutting out above the mask. Two antlers like twisted branches. On the end of each, bells like a jester's hat. Click play, and the figure comes to life. twisting around like a pixelated wind-up toy. Oh, we got them! We got these five naughty boys! The faces of the five kidnapped men flash up, each in their little rooms. They stole the world!

And now it's time to... The figure does a little dance again. Give it back, give it back now. Give it back, give it back now. Give it back, give it back now. Give it back, give it back now. A timer starts to count down. Give it back, give it back now. There it goes. Tick, tick, tick. And when it's all ticked out, you best be ready, because if we don't get it back very well, this whole world's going to get to that side down.

Hi, I'm Andy Oliver, and I'd like to tell you all about my Radio 4 series, One Dish. It's all about why you love that one dish, the one that you could eat over and over again without ever getting tired of it. Each week, a very special guest will bring their favourite food to my table and will be unpacking the history of it. And food psychologist Kimberley Wilson is on hand to talk us through the science bit. So if...

you're the sort of person who's already planning what you're having for lunch while you're eating breakfast, then this podcast is going to be right up your street. That's One Dish with me, Andy Oliver. Listen now on BBC Sounds. Hello, it's Ray Winstone. I'm here to tell you about my podcast on BBC Radio 4, History's Toughest Heroes. I've got stories about the pioneers, the rebels, the outcasts who define tough.

And that was the first time anybody ever ran a car up that fast with no tires on. It almost feels like your eyeballs are going to come out of your head. Tough enough for you? Subscribe to history's toughest heroes wherever. you get your podcast. When it's time to scale your business, it's time for Shopify. Get everything you need to grow the way you want. Like, all the way.

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