Death Of A Chav Princess - A Daydream
Julie Burchill makes me want to fulfill one of my childhood ambitions of becoming a policeman. This would allow me to embellish a daydream I have of guiding the hand of GolMal justice.
The plot of this daydream is about being the lucky policeman given the task to investigate a burglary at Burchill Towers, that has set off the alarm (which notifies the police). Cut to Ms Burchill who, returning home from one of her bouts of gluttonous excess, has apprehended her burglar and proceeds to go ballistic. Hysterically screeching at the top of her shrill Minnie Mouse-on-helium voice, her bulbous eyes pop out of their sockets making for a fearsome sight. Screaming petulantly and hurling violent cholesterol-rich put downs (as only our Julie can) at the young thief while he is making his way out of the crime scene with various bits of property stashed into a faux-Louis Vuitton shoulder-bag. He is caught unawares and acting on reflex, grabs the nearest heavy blunt object (lead piping?) and proceeds to bludgeon the woman's head with gusto and aplomb. After a gloriously frenzied attack, half the contents of Ms Burchill's now-fractured cranium are tastefully adorned all over the the expensive fuschia-coloured wallpaper of the hallway.
I turn up to find the boy-burglar standing over the dead writer, now sprawled shapelessly across the floor. Her flabby hulk still twitching furiously in synaptic Burchillian rage. The boy stands there in mute, frozen horror. He still holds the murder implement in his right hand and the bag of swag in the other.
Being a copper, I take command of the situation. I speak to the boy in sharp terms and tell him to move on, go on, move on. I take the bag and the murder implement out of his hands. I tell him to go straight home. He thanks me and wastes no time to make an exit. I quickly and efficiently destroy all sign of any evidence. After all, I am a policeman and take the utmost professional pride in my work. I complete all the necessary formalities and declare, in the paperwork, that the burglar was caught en-flagarante by the victim who startled him, and he then proceeded to kill her. The thief has absconded leaving behind no usable evidence. The case hits a brick wall and gets closed due to lack of leads and resources.
The bright side of the story is that I do get to have 15 minutes of fame on CrimeWatch UK, when I appeal for witnesses to "come forward". The Times publishes a tearfully clichéd obituary by Tony Parsons and, not to be outdone, the Guardian lets Germaine Greer let off steam in similar vein. I get a promotion and lots of fan email and complimentary comments on my blog.