In this topsy-turvy world where most of us are afraid to utter the words black or blind, fat or short in mixed company, the meek are not inheriting the earth.

Our land is split between those who dare not say 'boo' - or should that be 'excuse me'? - to a goose and those who grab what's not theirs and trample on other people's faces to get it.

In a society where you risk losing your job for sexual harassment for saying "you look nice" to a female colleague, there are those who utter strings of obscenities in the streets, in pubs and to the police - and get away with it.

Two little initials 'PC' can strike terror into the hearts of decent people. Whether they stand for Police Constable, Personal Computer or Political Correctness, those two simple letters can - or once could - create fear.

People often stop mid-sentence when they are about to criticise some bald-headed b....then remember my shiny pate. There's no getting away from it - I'm bald. Look at the picture. Hair does not grow rich and luxurious on my head because someone uses the expression 'follicly challenged'. Neither does 'vertically challenged' add inches to a short feller.

So let's stop pussyfooting around, because all the time we are tripping over our unguarded tongues, there are those who are ruling the roost by ignoring it all.

My outburst of righteous indignation is inspired by an alcoholically-fuelled conversation in a York working men's club, reported to me by a hungover participant. You had your humour last week. For one week only I am 'Outraged of Walmgate'.

It was late, apparently, and the drinkers were appalled at the gangs of youths who take over the streets while ordinary people are lapping up their nightly, soporific dose of Coronation Street.

They smash windows, damage cars, attack boarded up shops, bash somebody over the head for the latest mobile phone, terrorise paper lads and lasses into giving up their rounds, knock an old lady down for her fish and chips.

The five just men in their cups were bemoaning the fact that most of the time these wild, unrestrained youngsters get away with it - and even if they are caught, the punishment is no deterrent.

They are better protected than the victim. If someone is damaging your garden fence, you have to sit back and watch or you could be charged with assault for taking him by the scruff of the neck and dragging him to the police station (which might or might not be open).

"Touch me and my dad'll be round and he'll blind yer. Get off me, or I'll have the law on yer." So knowledgeable about the law these precious little law breakers. They apparently have to commit dozens of offences before any real punishment is inflicted, such as being sent on a foreign holiday to put them straight.

Assault victims are either dead or in hospital being fed porridge through a straw while their vicious murderers or attackers are in jail, sending for takeaway meals and a nightly video rental. "Where's the justice?" wailed the drunken working men's club jury.

So it got round, as usual, to bringing back flogging and hanging.

"I'd sort 'em out. I'd take 'em on Clifton Green and birch the lot of them in public."

Or we could lock them in a cold, damp cell and feed them on bread and water; bring back National Service; or perhaps let the victim's family loose on them in a locked room.

Let's maroon them on a barren, desert island to fend for themselves and film them in a sort of I'm A Scumbag Get Me Out Of Here production.

Perhaps we should make their parents more accountable, after all they are the ones who are really responsible for all today's ills. Let's wreck their houses in retaliation; jail the parents, stop their benefits or worse, deprive them of their television sets and DVD players.

Let's introduce castration for all sex crimes, chop off the hands of all thieves and brand offenders across the forehead with hot irons. If some toe-rag youth beats up a grannie for the last penny of her pension, let's beat hell out of his grandma, see how he likes it.

Mmm, we may be on to something. Some hope in a world where you should offer a cup of tea to a burglar while he ransacks your home.

Perhaps Mr Blair should move his judicial policy-making unit to a local working men's club. They can't do any worse.

Anyway, let's think about it later, EastEnders is on soon.

Updated: 10:20 Tuesday, May 11, 2004