I've become a Daily Mail reader...

I’m confused; I am encountering a feeling entirely new to me and it is causing massive discord in my internal workings. Indulge me:

I like to think that I am a reasonably well-balanced, well-read(ish) individual who knows right from wrong and good from bad. I detest the knee-jerk, mob-inciting sensationalist journalism that pervades our daily lives, and I refuse to consider the option of castrating rapists or deporting every single immigrant just because they have the chagrin to be ill in our country. Daily Mail journalists, meanwhile, should be hung and flogged simply for having the credentials (ingrained racism and misplaced patriotic fervour) to work for that rag. And that’s the problem; I’m starting to become one of those types, and there’s nothing I can do about it…

I saw the news reports on the child in Dundee that died at the hands of an uncaring mother and her violent psychopath of a boyfriend. I read the detail, considered my thoughts and decided roundly that the perpetrators should be executed. Similarly, the parents of young Peter, the baby that died horribly at the hands of violent pathetic imbeciles should be removed from the gene pool. Preferably flogged with razor wire, rolled in sand and vinegar and impaled to become weeping lollipops in a pit of pre-menstrual bears. At the time of writing this, my own son is twenty-one moths old, and despite his foibles he is absolutely guaranteed to raise a smile when I think about him. All babies, and especially toddlers, are loud and difficult; it happens. What doesn’t excuse the anger and frustration we all feel as new(ish) parents is punching said toddler in the mouth, stubbing a fag out on them, or allowing your equally disturbed and pea-brained Rottweiler to bite them.

What is utterly inexcusable in my mind is the concept of applying force to a child of such magnitude that it physically breaks them into small pieces. Consider scaling that force up to adults – what piece of machinery would you have to employ in order to deliver such a blow to a grown-up stomach? Mind you, given the parents, it could be fun finding out. A big, steam-powered punching machine with a glove made from roofing felt and angle-iron, weighted with bags of decomposing family pets and shark shit maybe. When I read such reports I get a physically hollow feeling in my chest, and the idea of inflicting such misery on my own children is so incomprehensible that I simply become angry and confused, like a Sun reader attempting to understand the idea of balanced debate. Or Jeremy Clarkson trying to grasp the concept of subtle irony.

I actively distance myself from those elements of the news now, much as I don’t like having to hide behind a cushion and avoid current affairs. I think my own problem is that I simply cannot fathom such violence against any child, annoying or otherwise, as they are wholly and completely innocent and trusting. Take your petty anguish and despair out on someone your own size, you unhinged abusive shit-for-brains bed-wetting torturer. Just don’t hurt babies, because my brain can’t handle the exasperation.