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In the tiny mill town, disputed for centuries between Lancashire and Yorkshire, the most heinous of crimes took place to the rancorous silence of the British Press. A gang of immigrants stalked an indigenous man, killed him and had their crime compounded by a judiciary that has lost any vestige of English Justice.
This small town, where I was measure for and purchased my first ever Best Suit, has witnessed the most appalling travesty of justice for many years.
What will be done? Nothing.
This crime of hatred can only be a hate crime if it is perpetrated by the indigenous person against an immigrant, or so it now seems. These cold blooded killers should be joining the ranks of the martyrs and dispatched to their Heaven at the quickest possible moment, before they get more brazened and strap on body bombs and slaughter more people.
This small town, where I was measure for and purchased my first ever Best Suit, has witnessed the most appalling travesty of justice for many years.
What will be done? Nothing.
This crime of hatred can only be a hate crime if it is perpetrated by the indigenous person against an immigrant, or so it now seems. These cold blooded killers should be joining the ranks of the martyrs and dispatched to their Heaven at the quickest possible moment, before they get more brazened and strap on body bombs and slaughter more people.
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