Dangerous Duckenfield

Not a murmur of dissent from the Conservative benches when Andy Burnham listed Orgreave alongside Hillsborough and Rotherham. Even they now admit it. Watch that space.

Meanwhile, if David Duckenfield is still alive and still in this country, then he is far and away the most dangerous man in Britain today.

There is not even anyone in prison who has been found criminally culpable of the deaths of ninety-six people.

And yes, even though it is not in itself a conviction, that is what the verdict of unlawful killing means.

It would be beneath the dignity of Ian Brady to have to share a cell with him.

But if he has in fact committed suicide, then who could blame him?

You could not write a novel or a play about the man who ended up as the sole defendant in the trial of everything that had been done to the North of England during the Thatcher years, of everything bad that had been done to the working class and its ancestors in England since 1066, of everything bad that had ever been done to Liverpool, behind that of everything bad that had ever been done to the Irish, and of everything that anyone who happened to be a Police Officer had ever done to annoy anyone who happened not to be.

I mean it. Try it. Try writing that novel or that play. Try pitching it to Radio Four.

Yet, if Duckenfield is still with us, then we are going to see that very trial. Not in the courtroom, of course. Or not much. But in the jury room. And in every pub. At every bus stop. Everywhere.