Kill an Argie, win a Metro
I couldn't help but notice our new minister in charge of stopping us all from getting killed to death by terrorists is encouraging us to become a nation of snitches, stool-pigeons and green, green grasses to preserve us all from the dusky terrorist menace.
All well and good. I didn't get where I am today without the odd bit of tactical informing, leaving rivals kicking their heels and protecting their bottoms in jail cells, while I live it up on my ill-gotten gains.
So, you can see where this is heading, Mr Minister with the scary job title. What's in it for me?
I mean, you're encouraging me, a man as dishonest as the day is long, to run, squealing to the Old Bill at the merest hint of Johnny Foreigner moving in down my street and testing his car bombs in his back garden. It just ain't working for me unless I get something in return. Cold, hard cash, brought to my house by a number of lightly-oiled lovelies, for starters. Then, if push comes to shove, my own airliner, taken wherever I want, no questions asked.
There's a problem. Me and my neighbour are on pretty good terms. I can't put a number on the occasions I've found myself short of a cup of weedkiller and 50kg sack of chapati flour, and Dave bin Laden next door has been more than obliging. OK, he's a bit of an eccentric chap who uses the word "infidel scum" rather more than is absolutely tasteful, but is this necessarily a bad thing?
After all, the guy who lived on the other side of us - a lovely chap called Dave McGuinness - came home with a different Ford Cortina every week, and his garden was rent with the sound of his blasting away at the rats that plagued his household with his prize Libyan Kalashnikov. But lovely chap. Lovely. Wouldn't hear a word against him.
So. I suggest a sliding scale of rewards for patriotic, capitalist scroungers - such as my good self - to ensure that good, selfless deeds such as shopping Naked Mrs Warboys from over the road for the terrorist scum that she is do not go unnoticed by society.
* Terrorists letting their dogs crap on the pavement outside your house - a pony
* Terrorists having noisy parties when you've got to be up early for a decent law-abiding, patriotic day's work - a monkey
* Terrorists using their mobile phones whilst driving WITHOUT seatbelts in their filthy Johnny Foreigner cars - two weeks in Majorca
* Terrorists lighting bonfires before 7pm just as you've put your clean, British washing out - new Nissan off-roader
* Terrorists failing to separate their rubbish, putting cardboard in with tins in a fiendish attempt to bring patriotic, British recycling efforts to their knees - mortgage paid off
* Terrorists in socks and sandals, driving around in front of me in caravans at exactly 28mph - K. Allsopp, S. Beeny, vat of baby oil
* Terrorist Jade Goody - the thanks of a grateful nation
These may seem like petty crimes to you - but it's just a small step from an overdue library book to ramming a flaming 4X4 into the doors of a provincial airport. Ten years in the iso-cubes is the very least perps like these understand, citizens.
This is my best scheme ever. There is no way on God's patriotic, British Earth this can go wrong. Bloody terrorists.
I am not mad.