My husband, bless his cotton ones, doesn’t suffer fools gladly. He’s a ‘take no prisoners’ kind of chap, and his politics are, as my Disreputable Dad would say, slightly left of Attila the Hun.
I admire this quality enormously. Especially as I’m the kind of person who apologises when someone treads on my toe. Take his blender, for instance. It’s not a real blender, it’s kind of a standing joke in our house: a human-sized blender reserved for the total and utter tossers in this life – you know the ones, the real wastes of skin we come across all the time.
Recently, we were discussing the two awful brothers who attacked the two little boys in Edlington. Some bobbly-jumpered ‘expert’ with huge bottle-bottomed glasses was busy on Sky News telling us how it might even be possible for them to be rehabilitated enough that they could slot back into normal life.
‘Pah’, said Hubby. ‘They should get the blender’
And the more we think about it, the more people there are that we’d toss in to join them: how about the little buggers’ parents for instance? Then there’s any number of arrogant ‘me me me’ celebs… those drunken dickheads hurling haywain punches outside any high street pub on any given Sunday morning. Oh, and the adorable Nick Griffin – I’d love to give him a whizz on high speed. Oh god and then there’s Katie bloody Price. Wouldn’t we all love to whip up a quick Jordan smoothie? I know I would.
And imagine the money we’d save on prisons: Terrorists? Blend ‘em. Murderers? Chuck ‘em in too. I reckon we’re on to something – maybe I should write a letter to Number Ten?
Over to you then. You’ve got one person to hurl into the blender. Who’s it to be?