I WORRY sometimes about the amount of time I spend wishing physical harm on Jeremy Clarkson.
Is it wrong, for example, to dream of burying the mullet-headed car fetishist in sand and setting up a Scalextric track in a figure-of-eight formation around his head with little model cars whizzing within inches of his face?
In my dream, Clarkson is bewildered about the whole situation.
He can't work out why he has been buried in the sand, and he certainly can't explain how a model car track came to be set up in a neat pattern around him.
As the cars grow ever faster, the smell of burning becoming redolent in the air, a terrified Jeremy wails: "Stop the cars! Stop the cars!" - but we never do.
I should say here that I would never actually follow through and assault Clarkson.
But faced with his unyielding assault on the public consciousness - the TV appearances saying cars are great and never mind the environment, blah blah blah, the newspaper columns saying cars are great and never mind the environment, blah blah blah - I want the ability at least to fight back in my own mind.
It's not just Clarkson who has reduced me to these fantasies of orgiastic violence, I suppose.
It's the thousands and thousands of people he is emblematic of - those numbskulls who have decided to ignore all the evidence to the contrary and convinced themselves that somehow motorists are victims.
There is a high moral ground which says that, instead of spending 20 minutes at a time dreaming of how I can slap Clarkson with a monkfish, I should debate the issues with him and show him the error of his ways. Fat chance.
There's an argument, too, that I should take him on at his own game, go all Michael Moore and hope that for all my brashness, the fact that I have right on my side will see me through. But that ain't gonna work either.
I don't want to have it out with people who say that speed cameras are a tax on the motorists. I can't be bothered to satirise those retards who have got it into their heads that the biggest cause of danger on the roads is cyclists.
What I want to do is put their heads down my toilet and flush it until they scream.
It's not the best, I know, but on a very personal level, it keeps me sane if I can take just a few minutes out of each day to dream up new ways to slap Jeremy Clarkson.
That Richard Littlejohn could do with a good shoeing too...
Oh, and a happy New Year.
