When Ken Jones, president of the Association of Chief Police Officers (Acpo), proposed in February that some heroin addicts should have their fix handed out by the NHS, I could have fallen off my chair. I agree with the idea, but I was shocked that a senior policeman was openly suggesting it.
He is a brave man to go against public opinion. At first sight, the notion is preposterous. Free drugs on the NHS? There would be hordes of people banging at the doctor's door every morning. And why should they get their drugs for free? Let them get a job and pay for their drugs like the rest of us.
Then again, at first sight, you wouldn't take Eastsiders Kelly and Rebecca for shoplifters. In their mid-30s, well groomed, wearing expensive clothes with designer sunglasses, you would be forgiven if you took them for ladies that lunch, or two ordinary housewives out for an afternoon's shopping. But you would be wrong.
They are long-term heroin addicts and prolific thieves. Exactly the sort of people Jones had in mind when he made his announcement. "You need to understand that there is a hard core, a minority, who nevertheless commit masses of crime to fund their habit," he said.
Younger addicts are relatively well served by the current testing and treatment regime, where their drug use is challenged by means of various carrots and sticks. Kelly and Rebecca are old hands when it comes to both methods. It will take more than carrots and sticks to move them. The stick holds no fear for them. They have done time in prison on more than one occasion. "Jail doesn't bother me, because I've done it that many times," says Kelly. "It makes you worse, if anything. That's where me and Rebecca met in the first place." As for the carrot: "I hate talking in groups," Rebecca says. "It makes me want to take drugs even more."
Both women have £80-a-day habits - £40 for heroin and the same for crack cocaine. Between them, they hand over £160 a day (that's £58,000 a year) to a local drug dealer. Stolen goods go for a third of the retail price, so the shopfloor value of the goods they steal each day is £480 - around £170,000 a year.
Jones is first and foremost a policeman. He wants to stop crime and has identified that the best way to do it is with people like Kelly and Rebecca in mind. "If I got it prescribed, I wouldn't need to go out grafting," Kelly says. "I might even be able to hold down a job." Kelly has two kids and she would like to do more for them. She would like nothing better than to lead a normal life.
The NHS doles out piles of anti-depressants every year to help people get through the day. It's a shame that Kelly and Rebecca are excluded from this benevolent aid programme because their drug of choice is shunned and feared by society.
A side-effect of adopting the heroin prescription policy would be that thousands of limbs and hundreds of lives would be saved. Kelly sometimes walks with a slight limp. She injected when she was younger and developed deep vein thrombosis. She considers herself lucky. She knows people who have lost legs, and others who have died. NHS-prescribed drugs would be clean and safe, unlike the poison that is bought on the streets. Many of the drug-related deaths each year in the UK might be prevented with a reliable supply of clean drugs and equipment.
A strong argument against prescription is that many addicts would continue to use crack cocaine. "Maybe we would still use now and again," Rebecca admits. "But you don't need the white like you need the brown." But if the policy cleared up only half the problem, it would be worthwhile. It would be a start.
It goes against the grain in England to give treats to the undeserving poor, but the benefits to society are clearly so immediate in this case, that I, for one, would be willing to make an exception.
Bernard Hare is a writer based in Leeds.