The Charred House,
11th August 2011
10, Drowning Street,
Dear Honourable Mr Dave/-id Cameron,
Your brave, indignant and honourable stand against the menace of pre-pubescent criminals who inhabit this benighted isle of ours has been an inspiration to almost everyone I’ve met since I accidentally caught the tail-end of your stirring words on the midday news bulletin on Talk Sport Radio yesterday, when I was down at “The Rioting Teacher’s Assistant” (formerly, “The Lamb and Flag”). We all know that you’ve only managed to be a weak and ineffectual Prime Minister so far, but the odds are against you, so hats off to you and your new-found honourable righteousness.
I’m all for a bit of honourable youth discipline, and who better to deliver it than you? Your mildly adenoidal but posh voice, so redolent of an annoyed and particularly ineffectual Geography teacher, strikes just the sort of mildly chastising tone which our fearsome enemy, Ms. Disaffected Youth and her boyfriend and father of her child-to-be, Master Hoodie, would listen to with great seriousness. Even the best child needs a gently firm but guiding hand during their troubling adolescent years, and thankfully for the twelve-year-old looters of this country, that hand is yours.
A less polite and tactful person than I might have drawn parallels between the ‘sick’ youth of today and your own wanton vandalism as a former leading acolyte of The Bullingdon Club, when you used to trash the odd restaurant ‘for a laugh’. Of course, such parallels are spurious; you always paid for the damage afterwards (or, at least, the money from your father’s generous allowance did). However, I would never mention such a thing! I know my place (unlike certain individuals; I think you know who I mean).
I have always been of the opinion that the fight against the evil criminality so endemic in our twelve-year-olds should not be the sole burden of such giants of the political and intellectual arena such as yourself and your worthy and honourable cabinet (apart from George Osborne; I’d check the date on his Birth Certificate if I were you) and to that end, here’s a generous £4.87 which you may spend as you see fit. I would have sent more, but in these straightened times, that’s all I could muster from a whip round at the local. I think it reflects the depth of feeling inspired by your words.
Show ‘em what you're made of!
Don’t forget the water cannons!
Yours in Patriotic Rage,