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Biggs, redheads and scout badges

A weekly column reproduced from the Bristol Evening Post


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Which fool sent Ronnie Biggs a passport? And why do we want him back in the first place?

Just because he embarrassed the cops by having the cheek to escape, that’s no reason to run up a massive bill for the taxpayers by banging him up at our expense.

Ronnie is here to milk the system. He can’t afford health care in Brazil, so we’ve got to pick up the tab. But Ronnie won’t have to wait nine months to see a consultant. And Ronnie won’t be left lying on a trolley in a hospital corridor because there’s no beds. And Ronnie won’t be bumped off by mistake by an overworked and over-tired surgeon – well, not unless we’re really lucky anyway.

Biggs is going to get the best medical care Britain can provide. And then, when he’s had his miserable life extended by a few months, we’ll stick him in a Category A prison at a cost of around £40,000 a year. So we’re paying to make him live longer, which in turn means that it’ll cost us more. What nonsense.

This is the establishment getting its revenge, pure and simple. We should have made the old crook stay put in the slums of Rio. That would have been a far more appropriate life sentence.


Look around you. They’re out there. Gingers, that is.

I blame Charlie Dimmock. Ever since the Queen of Decking made her life-altering first appearance on TV, the stigma seems to have gone out of being a member of the carrot-topped persuasion.

Everywhere you go, red-headedness abounds. Anyone would think it was fashionable. Whatever happened to the days when gingers were kept locked up in the attic in case they scared the horses?

Even Tony Blah has got in on the act with a government-funded job creation scheme designed to ensure that every business has an approved ginger contingent. Go on, count them. You’ll see.

Something must be done, otherwise our children will grow up thinking that this pigmentally-challenged lifestyle is quite normal, and not just an unfortunate affliction typical of Jocks and angry little men in pubs.

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