Bloody Killer Liberal Biscuits

I've been told that I do go on a bit, so here's a quickie.

I met up with an old friend the other day, back from when I was a more or less full-blooded libertarian, but still one with the penchant for throwing criminals into the (privatized) slammer for violence and vandalism.

The very first thing that he said after I bewailed the state of the country was that people of inflexible principles (I had been pretty doctrinaire back in the day) believed that if our chosen cure wasn’t working, then the only course was to do more of it. Apparently we think that way. Maybe it’s the only language we understand?

It’s the uber-liberal reflex on discussing crime. Punishment’s baaaad, M’kay?

They wheel it up front and centre, every time.

It’s followed by: ‘This has nothing to do with Islam,’ but it’s a distant second.

By a hilarious coincidence the wing mirror of my car parked right in front of the house was ripped from its mounting for the eleventh time in six years last night. It’s okay, though, as it clipped right back on, and I’ve only had to replace it or it offside twin four times due to actual loss or destruction, at the paltry cost of £80 or so, so it’s no biggie.

I gave up reporting this low-grade crime pattern after attack number seven, when the rather pretty local PCSO I’d told about it the day before walked past in the rain and made some humourous quip to me in that familiar and beloved comedy genre of woman-watching-man-doing-something-technical-and-unpleasant-on-his-bloody-day-off as I crouched: soaked, screwdriver and spanner in hand.

Over six years I’ve been issued with seven comforting and authoritative crime report numbers, and one actual copper visited and he advised us to install CCTV (though I’d like to have been told in advance what happens in court to middle-aged men who make secret video recordings of teenagers), and one very wholesome SOCO who came to fingerprint the mirror and car on a Saturday lunchtime. Maybe she had some budget left for the month, or a target to hit. Or a sense of duty.

What do these harmless scallywags go on to after their low-grade vandalism goes unpunished for years?

Aw, gee, shucks. I don’t know.

Hmm. Is it possible to define Punishment Is Bad as an inflexible principle?

Beats me.

Mind how you go.

Joke of the Decade

From Wikipedia.

" The Howard League is a membership organisation and draws its members from all parts of society - from MPs, QCs, peers and academics, to students, prisoners and legal professionals."

"... all parts of society..."

Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha.

Raw Dead Plant Diet Week.
Day Five.

On a lighter note, my regular readers this week will both be pleased to learn that my diet is now approaching its triumphant conclusion. As the last remnants of the toxins typical of industrial-age food leave my body after five days of eating only raw fruit, vegetables and salad and eschewing all grains, starches and potatoes my mind has become clearer still.

It’s now plain that my belief - acquired yesterday after a mere 96 hours on 800 kCal per day - still left some room for error. In fact my annoying colleague proved not to be a Roswell Grey hiding underneath a terrestrial skin after all but was in fact a platter loaded down with scorched tuna steaks sautéed potatoes and salsa, followed by a generous serving of chocolate truffle torte and cream. I checked with Sir Rupert, King of the Pixies and the Vegetarian Society’s head of bacon, and they assured me that tuna steaks, Roswell Greys and colleagues at the Department of Hurt and Awful Nuisances are all root vegetables.

I must say that the empty desk opposite me looks rather sad and lonely with its hastily emptied and hastier-refilled drawers and all that fingerprint dust but I’m happy in the knowledge that I can recommend to you both four solid days subsisting on roots, nuts, and berries or, as it is more properly called ‘The State Retirement Pension, 2020 style, Gordon Brown Special Commemorative Edition.’

Old Sir Rupe also points out that my line manger, a lifelong Labour Party and Liverpool FC supporter is, in fact, a tuber corm or rhizome.

Goes nicely with Chianti, apparently.

Bon appétit.

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