I am probably putting myself in extreme danger by writing this entry about the terrorists that live in the urban regeneration area of Breckfield in North Liverpool (and I’m sure they are all over Liverpool, not just confined to Breckfield).

They don’t like people to speak out about them, and certainly they hound them and make their life a living hell by shouting or graffiting ‘grass’ and spitting at them or their family at the very least. More usually, of course, they punish their victims by causing damage with firebombs and excrement through letterboxes and bricks through the windows.

Mind you, these terrorists already make life a living hell for most of the ordinary folk in the area, but there’s nothing that can be done to stop them, so people pretend they’ve not seen anything. The police are powerless and no resources are available to be used trying to build cases against them. Only when there’s a death do they reluctantly come forward and try to gather evidence.

Here’s a case in point: One Friday afternoon the large heavy ironworks that make a street drain cover were prised from their road seating. On passing, I mused that somebody stepping off the kerb could fall in and break their leg, and wondered what had caused the cover to disappear. On turning the corner into the main busy street, I discovered why the iron grating had been removed. The front screen of a local cash machine had received a repeated pounding. Flakes of its bullet-proof multi-layered reinforced thick glass had showered the pavement because of the obvious 10 or 12 direct blows it had sustained. All this in broad daylight in a reasonably busy street.

A bit further on a row of cars had had their windows systematically stoved in, before the ironwork had been discarded.

The terrorists were of course a couple of bored 10 year olds on their way home from school. They weren’t trying to break into the cash machine, they just wanted to break it. Why? Because that’s a fun thing to do, and there were no passing 3 year olds to kidnap and kill.

Around these parts, children are brought up to disrespect anything and everything. Usually, this is because they are feral, left to roam the streets by their parents who are far too busy watching TV, stoned or up the pub to care or to try to instill any sense of right or wrong. That’s assuming the parents actually have an idea about right or wrong in the first place. After all, these are the adults who buy ugly fighting dogs and take them out without a care and allow them to foul right in the middle of the pavements and leave it there. They aren’t going to care about the anti-social behaviour of their children, even if they can work out that what their children are doing is wrong.

At an early age the children are equipped with a football, an obligatory replica kit from one of the local teams, and shoved out of the door. With no concern for their own safety or the safety of others, they’ll kick the ball around the streets, in the path of oncoming cars, or bounce them off the walls of people’s houses (even if there’s a sign asking them to please not do it as it’s disturbing sleeping children). Most cars parked near street corners turned into makeshift pitches show the tell-tale signs of dents from football impressions.

When they are asked to stop they will bad mouth and verbally attack the residents asking them to stop. They do this because this is the way of their parents. As they get older, and with nobody keeping them in check, they become more cock-sure and far more aggressive. They start with petty crime, again unchecked and unstopped, which slowly becomes more serious crime. They clock on that they are in control. They fear nobody; everybody fears them. That feels good.

On occasions they’ll be given, or have stolen, money to go to a local chippie for their supper. They’ll be rude to the owner, climb all over his furniture, eat their food half on the premises and half in the immediate street, and chuck unwanted chips on the ground or throw them at passers by in a very intimidating and frightening way. The entrance to a chippie that has been visited by these feral children is a minefield of gob and discarded food and wrappings for any normal customer wanting to enter.

The owners of these takeaways are too frightened to say anything to these terrorists. Most of the takeaways in the area have broken or smashed windows from times when children’s behaviour was challenged; the children came back later with a brick to show the adults who’s boss. Some shop windows even openly show the scars of gunfire. The owners can’t afford to replace the glass, and realise its a futile exercise anyway. The children will just smash it all over again to remind them who’s in charge.

These children love throwing things. To them it’s hilarious when one of their missiles breaks the window of a passing bus or causes a car driver to make an emergency manoeuvre. Glass is one of their favourite things to smash into tiny pieces. There’s not a pavement in North Liverpool that doesn’t glisten from the fine remains of bottles or glasses they’ve destroyed.

The ‘system’ fails the ordinary folk whose lives are destroyed by these children. Nothing can be done to stop this continuing, relentless and escalating terrorism. Urban regeneration is too good for these kids and their parents. They need immediate urban termination.