Copstick's Modest Proposal for obstreperous progeny. Guaranteed to gain us the universal approbation of Mumsnet.

Most of you know I have had my problems with women. As bodies, I love them. It is their minds which I find problematic. We know, of course, that oestrogen is a mind altering drug. And it may just be a sad fact that not all users can cope with its effects. As simple women, this can be irritating in the extreme. As mothers, the effect seems to render previously sentient people deaf, blind and unbelievably stupid.

The Mama Biashara Emporium takes up a grand space in W12 Shopping and Leisure, raising money to set the very poorest of women in Kenya up in small businesses, giving them security, independence and enough money for rent and food. I have placed a small, handwritten notice at the door.

This notice is written with half my tongue in part of my cheek but is backed by years of experience of ghastly screaming children running amok while their mothers are both deaf and blind to everything. However, should I muster my ‘death stare’ and fix it on one of the little beasts, she immediately develops 360 degree vision and demands to know why I am ‘looking funny’ at her brat. Such is the power of maternal oestrogen. It should be a Class A drug. Available only on prescription.

The heavy dose also removes all finer intellectual capacities and anything remotely like a sense of humour. Shortly after I placed the notice at the door, two breeding females with bad dye jobs and Croydon Facelifts happened by. Each with a brat in a pram and one free ranging.

Her:  (stabbing finger at the sign) This is bang aht of awdah. ‘S disrespeckful to chiwdren innit ?
Her friend:  Bang aht of awdah.
Me:  I am sorry you feel that way. Most people find it amusing.
Her:  Nah. ‘S disrespeckful. Ooo’s in charge eeah ?
Me:  I am
(she looks me up and down much in the manner of a mother regarding an item of clothing down which one of her brood has vomited pizza)
Her:  Nah your not
Me:  I am
Her:  So someone must be in charge of the charity
Me:   I am
Her:   see supra
Her:  We was gonna come in an buy summat, But we’re not nah !
(I say nothing. But inwardly rejoice. The free ranging brats have a destructive aura)
Her:  So wot’s the charity abaht then ?
Me:  We set women in Kenya up in small businesses
Her:  Wimmin ?
Me:  Yes
Her:  (she stabs a finger in the direction of my chest) Well wimmin ‘ave chiwdren you know!

She obviously feels she now occupies both moral and intellectual high ground and leaves.

As soon as I assume complete control there will be child-free carriages on trains, child free flights, child free restaurants and, in shopping centres, mothers will be required to check their brood in at the entrance, to be kept in a small cage and picked up when shopping is done.

Just remember, ladies, the frequently dire consequences of your lemming-like rush to breed are visited on us all. I never wanted my own children. And I CERTAINLY don’t want yours.