With the UK riots just a distant memory now and the majority of the perpetrators safely behind bars already, I was shocked to find a family who appear to have got away almost scot-free; this despite documented evidence that they were part of the problems faced by Britain at that time.
Rest assured that I have already passed on all I know to the relevant authorities. However, I thought that I should also share this damning evidence with my readers – and indeed name and shame those individuals responsible, the majority of whom appear to go by their gang names: Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail and Peter.
You can’t blame the kids: they live in an absolute hole. There’s no father figure in their lives – he was killed while carrying out a robbery – and their mother seems uncaring. Indeed, as far as I can see, they are pretty much left to their own devices for the whole day as she heads out shopping, merely telling them:
Now run along and don’t get into mischief.
Immediately, ignoring her advice, 3 of the children head out looting:
Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail who were good little bunnies, went down the lane to gather blackberries.
Presumably “the lane” is White Hart Lane in Tottenham and the blackberries come from the local O2 shop.
But this story centres mainly around the eldest sibling, Peter. While the others are illegally garnering crappy cellphones, he engages in trespass and theft in the garden of a local elderly resident.
First he ate some lettuces and French beans; then he ate some radishes;
And then, feeling rather sick, he went to look for some parsley.
I’m guessing “parsley” is street slang for marijuana or some such illicit substance.
All is going well for Peter until, smashed off his face on “parsley”, he encounters the homeowner and a chase ensues. Now all too often, we have heard of these OAPs keeling over with a heart attack, but fortunately, this guy seems stronger, and armed with a gardening implement, he goes after Peter.
Peter hides in an outbuilding and – in an effort to change his appearance – sheds his jacket. However, the old man tracks him down and Peter ends up smashing a window, “upsetting three plants” and possibly getting injured while escaping:
After a time, he began to wander about , going lippity-lippity – not very fast and looking all around.
Once he believes the coast is clear, he decides to make a run for it and manages to make it back home. No questions are asked as to where he has been or what he has done – indeed, his mother merely doses him up with camomile tea (the leporine equivalent of ritalin, I suppose) before he heads off to bed.
It’s a truly shocking tale and the worst bit about it is that it is openly and widely available to our children. Are there really lessons in here that we want to teach them? That non-existent parenting is acceptable? That petty crime has no consequences? That regular use of parsley is not something to be concerned about?
Is it any wonder we find ourselves facing these problems?