25 June 2011


"Father of murdered toddler James Bulger last night begged authorities not to release killer Jon Venables - warning he will once again target children if he is freed."

Oh boo hiss, 'Grieving' Ralph, where's your sense of adventure? Your spirit for the kill?

For years I've been railing at the so-called sleuthy webhounds and their soi-disant nose for a fugitive. Fat lot of success they/we have had running Venal Balls and accomplice to ground.

Can't you see, Ralph? This is the chance to set the rabbit running and unleash the Lurchers in slavering pursuit. Oh ... baby! This is one hunt you could charge tickets for.

At my school there was a 'game' that was sort of banned except many of the teachers were Old Boys and had played or been played so it was unofficially encouraged.

After Sports Day and the last parental limo had chugged thru the gates, dinner over, there was a gap of around 30 mins when everyone moseyed around and coveted each other's gifts from Mummy and - had we used the word that way - chilled.

It was wasn't written how the victim was chosen - or indeed if there was to *be* a 'victim' that year - but suddenly a hollerin' would go up and the tribal tom-toming on tuck boxes and we were on our way.

Some poor wretch was running for his life - Mater looked too tarty? Nay, too scrumptious? Yummy Mummy, what? Also, had that been around. Family Rolls too posh? Or just guilty of eyeballing the Captain of Cricket or making a snide remark about the assistant matron ... who knew? But the hapless prey soon knew and off he ran, through changing room and dorm, across playing field and thru classroom (against rules to enter classroom outside school hours; bags of zeal flushing them from under the desks).

Tradition required the most sadistic masters to stand at strategic points and bawl out "Cease this game NOW! Any boy caught participating will see in me in my study after ... there he goes! Faster, Beresford! He's getting away."

Poh poh - I never knew why I never got landed for the part; I was ideal weepy wimpo material. Indeed, one year, Mr Webb actually thought I was the 'rabbit' and yelled out the direction in which I was loping when it was actually Wilkinson II who was leading the mob in a completely opposite direction.

What I'm saying is that, let Venables loose on the mean streets and I'm sure the guys will twitter and snicker and pick up the scent ere long. Shove on a super injunct for good measure ... once we're on the trail it'll be one big happy family chase with great photos while we run him down and a splendid front page bonanza of the 'kill' (dunno why I have that in 'quotes') and the thug that got to him first holding up the severed head with some sober dedication, "This is for Jamie".

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