Welcome to Bradford

Bradford, Bradford, Bradford - home of prostitute murderers, past and present; home of racial disharmony, past and present; all-round byword for post-industrial decay; and home to me. And now, apparently, giant rats.

Oh really? Some bloke from Wakefield was "ratting" in Eccleshill (because when Bradford's not on the front-line of the war on terror, it's in the Victorian era) and he shot a 30-inch long rat. The Sun ran it as true, but I'm not linking to them because you have to pay to read it. Then every other media outlet picked it up and ran it as true. Despite the fact that the rat-catcher claims that he threw the body away and it was eaten by other animals. Ignore the fact that scientists can reconstruct the precise life stories of dinosaurs dead for millions of years from a small piece petrified bone embedded in a rock. There was no trace of the giant rat left. Presumably because one of Bradford's other indigenous predators devoured it.

So, the story adds up to a bloke claims to have shot a giant rat on a countil estate, but he doesn't have any evidence. So how does it end up all over the media?

I'll tell you how. Bradford is a byword for "hell on earth", right? So giant rats fit right in. The media expects the public to believe that anything could happen in Bradford, provided it's dreadful - hence giant rats without evidence.

Oh, I see the Daily Mail is today claiming that similar beasts have been found in Lincoln. Yeah, I can well believe that about Lincolnshire (my ancestral home). But it declares as truth the rats are "of the kind terrorising an estate in Bradford". What, the MADE-UP, IMAGINARY kind?

Give Bradford a break, for god's sake!

I did, however, take the picture above on my way home last night.

But that was in Leeds.