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HE'S GOT THE LEATHER jacket. He's got the hairy chest. So, it was only natural that Donal MacIntyre would be your man to be present a series called Britain's Toughest Towns (Five, Wednesday, 11:05pm). His premise is that "Britain's towns and cities are facing record levels of violent crime". Ya-de-ya. Aren't they always? What's new in this? Well, he says, Glasgow - the first city he picks on - is "currently experiencing a frightening epidemic of knife attacks". It is "the Chicago of Europe" and the "murder capital of western Europe". Oh boy. The city fathers (as distinct from its godfathers) will go doolally. What is this going to do for the form of civic pimping known as tourism? Stab it fatally, we hope. MacIntyre twists the knife in with statistics: two to three knife injuries a day; over 1,000 treated in hospital in a year; 200 gangs with names like "Billy Girls" and "Hammer Boys"; up to 30 knives a week sold by one shop alone; over half the city's murders carried out with knives. He batters us with images: a chap with an axe embedded in his chest; ripped throats; gouged skin. We see one fellow who had been stabbed and hit over the head several times with a crowbar. Lugubrious paramedic (not trying to be funny): "Apart from that, you're fine." We hear about one innocent youth who ventured into the wrong area at the wrong time. His killers smiled in court and made rude signs at the bereaved. One of those declared understandably: "I'd love to decapitate them, so I would, and shove their heads right up their arse." The hoodies in the high-rise blocks need subtitles for the hard of understanding. Their faces are blurred, their voices sometimes distorted even further than they'd already managed themselves. The owner of the knife shop defends himself from MacIntyre's slashing question by claiming B&Q sold more knives in a day than he did in a week. "I must point out," he adds, "I don't sell weapons. I sell knives. A knife is only a weapon if used in an aggressive manner." Ah. Well, thank goodness, we cleared that one up. Liverpool fares little better as a tourist destination, in this homage to the horrible. It's reputed to be "home to the best organised and wealthiest drug dealers in the country", and few citizens leave home without a nail bomb. Even the police aren't safe: three cop-shops have been attacked. Featured here is a lecturer in "drug use and addiction", wearing a baseball cap and earring. I half-expected the university principal to appear in a tracksuit. One former dealer says dealing is as common as delivering pizza. The phone never stops from nine in the morning until midnight. If you object, or get involved on the wrong side, you might be tortured with acid. One informant says of victims: "They've had their arse slashed." I don't want to quibble, but shouldn't that be "arses"? One hooded practitioner gets nostalgic for the good old days: "There was more control. They used to talk to you. The new kids, the up and coming, treat you like shit." ....
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