I have never stumbled drunkenly into the hotel room of a Premiership footballer in the early hours of the morning to listen to his collection of ‘Changed Direction’ CDs.
I have never wandered the streets of Newcastle at 2am, dressed only in the remnants of my Ibiza ‘ravewear’ and asked an unlicensed taxi to take me home free of charge because I’ve lost my purse.
I have never agreed to go home with, and share a bed with, a near stranger who happened to be sitting next to me on the train when I had a row with my boyfriend.
I have never consumed three quarters of a bottle of vodka, come to that, nor shared a strange cigarette with a man I met on the train. When I do go out, I wear clothes appropriate for the time of year, and ensure in advance that I know how I am going to get home – and it wouldn’t rely on promises from my ‘fwend and her new boyfwend’ that she met yesterday.
Now, I’ve always put the above down as the reasons why I’ve never found myself ‘roasted’ between three of Manchester United’s strikers, nor lying in a ditch beside the last known sighting of an unlicensed taxi driver, nor floating upside down in a canal. Colour me old fashioned.
Ms Saunders, the Director of Prosecutions would no doubt be baffled that nothing untoward had happened to me, given that in my time, I had been a vulnerable under-age girl, a ‘child at Duncroft’, a teenage delinquent, a runaway, a homeless girl, and all manner of perfect candidate for the position of ‘Victim of the week’.
Ms Saunders, you see, holds to a view that the world is full of ‘predatory males’, who have ‘lairs’ to which you could be ‘lured’, who ‘cover their tracks’ by inviting you for a drink, or thanking you for your company on Facebook the following day. In Ms Saunders world, just standing up on your ‘hind legs’ at the bar and ordering a drink with three fellow priests to celebrate your decision to become celibate for life, can be turned into wolf-behavioural allegories, whereby they are disguising their scent or something.
I very nearly subscribed to the view that I simply wasn’t attractive enough to have attracted this predatory behaviour – but now that I am aware sex has nothing to do with physical attraction and is a manifestation of power; I have to face the fact that surrounded by predatory men, no one has ever wanted to hold power over me, not a single Tory politician, not one; it is depressing knowledge. Woe is I.
So I have turned my attention instead, to what can be done with the army of predatory males when Ms Saunders has managed to convict them, notwithstanding their efforts to put her off their scent, by marrying their victims, buying them breathtakingly expensive engagement rings, hiring Gondolas on the Venice canals (God help George Clooney – did you ever see such grooming in plain sight?) (And She a lawyer?).
There are, apparently, 15,000 rapists in Britain’s prisons already – if only 5% of rapists are convicted, a figure I understand Ms Saunders goes to bed at night mumbling to herself, then we need an extra 285,000 prison places urgently. Wandsworth is our largest prison, and that only holds 1,800 prisoners, so we are talking about 150 Wandsworth’s being built immediately.
The Labour Government aimed to achieve an overall net capacity of just over 96,000 by 2014, mainly through two major prison building programmes. We need treble that! They estimated costs at 1.2 Billion per 7,500 prisoners. That’s, er, well, 38 Billion give or take…oh, plus the 36,000 times 285,000 prisoners cost per year to keep them there.
Then what do we do with all these predatory males when they leave prison? We can’t see them ‘rewarded’ for their disgusting behaviour by returning to their previous occupation as Glasgow dustmen or Ipswich traffic wardens – think of the children they might come in contact with!
We shall have to build Rapist Colonies, as they have done in the good old US of A. On the lines of the old Leper colonies, they are built in the Florida marshland on land that is of no interest even to developers who provide you with a glass bottomed boat to see the site of your new home…we call them Welsh caravan parks.
They have to be sited further than 300 feet from any place that might be utilised by a child – so no nearby bus stops, shops, parks, schools or houses; residents have been known to creep out in the middle of the night with tape measures to ensure that this is adhered to. Ensuring that they do not come within 300 foot of a child or a woman obviously negates any chance of employment, so we will have to feed and clothe them for life…
There is a film premiered at the Sundance Film festival last week called ‘Pervert Park’ which basically ‘explores the unthinkable’ (quote) which turns out to mean sex offenders just over a mere 300 foot from your child…expect violent demonstrations at any cinema which dares to show it.
Following the linear progression of these statistics, I can foresee a time when there will no longer be a North/South divide, but a Rapist Colony/Survivor divide across the country.
I trust Ms Saunders has thought of the taxation burden she is putting on the women of this country. Never mind ‘who is going to put the bins out’ – who is going to empty them?