They could revel in their newly found freedom in sordid teen gangbangs of 12-year-old sex with half their classmates. Whilst still enjoying a nice cold ice cold Harp (if you can remember the add.) and if you just happen to be sisters you could even inherit a disgruntled mum moaning to the council for a bigger gaff and a miserly twenty K a year for your trouble. Don’t worry though, we wouldn’t have to worry about the cost as the social, I’m sure, would be happy to pick up the £850 quid a season the owners rake in as they greedily re-let them to all in sundry at ten times the initial ground rent. My god some lucky bugger got allocated three! Bring them on here then is my cry, and by the way I’d like to bagsies the first twenty! This is all starting to sound like a sketch from one foot in the grave, and by rights I should stop it but I just can’t help myself. As you can imagine my remedy might be ever so slightly draconian. Now I’m not suggesting the ideologue of an eye for an eye is the answer. Or that the little sweethearts that kicked down the wall by the bus stop be bent over and kicked ‘till their tops come of and crumple to the floor. Attractive as that might seem to some, but what I am saying is that we must try to ensure that some sort of redress and compensation is given back to the victim/owner. Whether by fiscal or actual reconstruction means. I mean trying to persuade a hardened street kid to mend his ways by planting petunias for some old lady in Grimsby is not likely to get the kid to address and mend his ways is it? Blimey they don’t even want them to be identified in lovely orange gear. Shame that. At least we’d know just who to avoid asking our holiday snaps to be taken by were.

It just seems that in this day and age every body is being blamed except the thugs themselves. All too often we hear “It’s the parents It’s the schools, it’s the teachers, poverty, Hard upbringing, deprivation, lack of ambition and a million and one modern made up medical terms to make excuses for poor behaviour”. In my day, not so long ago one was expected to put up with the consequences of wickedness, that when you broke the law you accepted the debt to society you owed. It should be a time of reflection and betterment of oneself. Instead it has become yet another human rights case because the cell wasn’t big enough or hadn’t en-suit facilities with a pool table, dvd, TV, video and a good business in bling and phone cards. I don’t mean to be depressing and that, luckily a huge percentage of our own young people around here are truly brilliant. They are respectful, caring and devoted to their environment and family well being. Unfortunately bad habits are beginning to spread. Modern technological advancements in communications are encouraging all sorts of folk to lean towards the “dark side” in ways we couldn’t have even imagined a couple of years ago. I mean at one time you just never turned up for your tea when you wanted to meet the lads down the crown for a jar or two or an all nighter. Now you just text the neighbours to clear your dinner off the front lawn path so that Nan doesn’t trip over the tripe and chips on her way in from bingo.

The truth of the matter is that yobs and yobettes do exist out there in greater numbers than before and we should be, as a society be able to nip these misdemeanours in the bud, police willing. Of course there was a time if a little thug took it upon his or herself to suddenly, without provocation, slap a defenceless old lady around the chops on the way home on the bus, he or she might have expected society to take a grim view. Thus one might have had ones knuckles slapped with the hard edge of a rule. Which as I can vouch from my distant past, would be a memorable experience and would immediately be reluctant to repeat the misdemeanour for a second time. Oh fond memories of my school days. How we laughed! Of course the spectacle and modern sport of spitting and verbal diarrhoea is no longer cleansed by a loving parent’s grasp of the use of a flannel, water and a cube of carbolic. Me thinks the sooner reality T.V shows utilise that cure the better channel four will be. Never mind eh? Back to the grind and I’m pleaded to see that The old Hunts shop is taking shape nicely with the new front not as awful as we first thought. Wonder what the odds are for there being a lap/pole-dancing club above are? Well sad as it may seem that’s all the space I’m allowed for this time. Enjoy the hot spell we have to come albeit with the BBC’s new weather forecasting Tec. Personally I still make do with the seaweed pinned to the front door. At Least I know when it’s raining! Super holidays to you all take care now Vic.