Wednesday, 10 August 2011


Well, it's all gone a bit Clockwork Orange.  You can hear the hollow laughter of Burgess from the grave (I think he's dead, not sure - no one tells me anything).

All ok round Nag's Head.  Well, it would be.  We have a load of tough African and Eastern European mothers who are never slack with a wallop round the head: thank heavens for them.

The Turkish lads down the road shut up shop early last night: only just managed to buy a bottle of boozington before they pulled the shutters down.

This is a tiny example of the sort of hideous ripple effect caused by rioting: the rest of us risk remaining boozeless.

I remember the same sort of old business when the IRA kept sticking bombs in litter bins.  The result of which meant that there are no litter bins at Kings Cross to this day.  So, at the end of any journey you end up with a pocket full of old rubbish and a half full cup of cold coffee.  AND the Kings  Cross cleaning staff are always morose.

Lord knows what we'll do about these little beggars.  I tend to think that it is merely cyclical: every 25-30 years (when we get a few hot days; note how they never decide on a riot when it's raining) some communal sentience takes hold and sets them off.  Funny how that communal sentience never sends them down the library for a reading-fest.

Some of my neighbours, however, appear to know exactly how to sort the whole thing out (phew).  The answers range from:

National Service
Corporal Punishment in Schools
Removal of benefits from parents with rioting kids
The Work House

I 'think' I have a better solution...fasten yer seat belts:

what about we sub-contract the Youth Offenders out to Mali?  Just think: the naughty beggars will be in huts in the middle of nowhere (where they going to run?); the warders will be tough sorts who think nothing of walking 2miles to get a bucket of water (they certainly won't stand for any old nonsense); Mali could do with the money; sub-contracting will help Mali financially and will, I reckon, save us a fortune.

I only say, Mali, only because I know a lady from Mali and she doesn't stand for any old cods.

To be honest, I don't even know where Mali is, apart from it's in Africa.

I don't think my neighbours would approve of my idea: the consensus is along the eye for a eye lines id est they want to give the little sods a kicking.

Kids, eh?

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