I’m no fan of Tonight with Trevor McDermott. Too much like the Daily Mail on speed. But I actually watched this evening. It was that thorny question of the rights or wrongs of killing folk because they happen to be wandering downstairs in the dark robbing your CDs, DVDs etc.
They had four or five scenarios in which each the burglar dies. What would happen to the perpetrator? The police bloke thought that each would have got off with a warning. Dominic Lawson (who is turning into his dad the oily git.)
I can hear Mosher’s keyboard clicking on this subject — one in five keeps a weapon by their bed? (According to Trev.) Bloody hell. That is what Miss P would say is so unhappy.
The truth though. In each scenario (bar one) the bloke is always asleep. It’s the wife (sorry, partner) who wakes up and stumbles downstairs.
As he comes out of the bedroom, there is a golf-bag. I can’t tell the difference between an iron or a wood, but said hero selects one.
And I stop here at the murder point. The surreal bit is that man wears a vest and pants and chases suspect down the street. No. The woman wears a flimsy nightie. No. We retire wearing zilch.
And if we’re woken by intruders, there’s me and Mrs P charging down the road naked.
It has happened, not to me, but a friend of ours who found himself gasping for breath, no clothes on and half a mile from home.
Some moments are inescapable.