Herself and I got chatting last night.
This usually only happens when the two of us are simultaneously sober, and at the rate she drinks, that isn’t very often.
We had been half watching a panel discussion about the riots, or the looting or whatever the politically correct term is for what went on in the UK. The panel of course spewed forth enough shite to fertilise the entire county, blaming the poor children’s deprived backgrounds and the alienation of youth and crap like that.
Herself’s answer was as usual forthright and direct. “Cut off their goolies” she roared. She is incidentally also a fan of ‘Not the Nine O’Clock News’. I pointed out that that would indeed work, but not for another generation, or lack of, as it were.
I have seen Yer Man Cameron a few times waffling into the camera. I thought our mob were bad, but Jayzus, that bloke hasn’t a fucking clue. He is all platitudes, cliches and over reactions. I mean to say – locking up a couple of kids for three years for writing on a web site? Fuck me!
The cause and solution are simplicity itself.
The cause is the result of two generations of nannying the little brats from birth. They soon learn that they can get away with absolutely anything because some hare-brained law says that no one can lay a finger on them. The kids tell a teacher to fuck off – the teacher can only ask them to pleeeese speak nicely. That in itself deserves a fuck-off response. Locking them up now is too little, too late.
Herself and I were brought up the old fashioned way and we turned out reasonably well. We brought our K8 up the old fashioned way and she isn’t a bad kid at all. The scars have healed nicely and you would hardly notice the limp. We learned that disrespecting our elders and betters usually resulted in something very painful indeed.
The solution is equally simple. It’s not original, but I can’t remember where I read it so it will have to remain unaccredited. All they have to do is create a series of boot camps across the land. Up at five in the morning and a full day of physical training and dirty duties before they get to bed at two in the morning.. Keep ‘em at it until they learn to respect themselves and others.
So there you have it.
If anyone wants me to be Prime Minister of the UK, just drop me a line.
The usual address will do.