The Midsomer Experiment has Failed

It was in the early1980s that an epidemic of crime erupted in the City of Oxford. Into a town that normally only had to deal with drunken undergraduates clashing with annoyed Townies came a whole series of murders - normally of the rich and well-connected, or of dons who were trying to hide some dark secrets.

But starting from the turn of the millennium, the Thames Valley constabulary were faced with a growing problem. The dozens of convicted criminals of the so-called "Morse killings" were now beginning to be released on licence. The authorities did not want the Dreaming Spires polluted by the returning criminals en masse - the tourist industry would never have stood for it. And so began the Midsomer Experiment.

Just on the edge of Candlefordshire, the quiet county of Midsomer had dreamed its way into the modern era. Not since the Duke of Monmouth's rebellion had unexpectedly taken its route round from Lorna Dooneville to South Wessex had Midsomer and its 86 similarly-named villages known any trouble. But now this was all to change. The "Morse Murderers", each with a new identity and changed personal history, were increasingly being released into the community - from Badger's Drift to Newton Magna. A secret parole office - unknown even to the local police force - was set up to monitor the released felons as they settled into their new lives.

Of course, the experiment was fraught with danger from the start. As an influx of upper-middle-class supposedly reformed offenders flooded into the area, the price of country houses went through the roof. Premiums for thatched roofs and rose-clad walls were spiralling. And nobody could have predicted the rise in the price of Old English broadswords, antique shotguns and golf clubs.  In a county now stuffed full of people with proven short tempers unlikely family histories and sociopathic tendencies, disasters were inevitable. Before long Midsomer County had a murder rate to rival the Bronx. Pubs closed down after their entire clientèle was wiped out overnight.  Vicars would come into Matins on a Sunday morning to find that their whole congregation was either dead or in custody. Which played havoc with the Parish Share, being calculated retrospectively. No-one could walk down the street in Causton without wondering who was going to be chasing after them armed with a sink plunger, ornamental Japanese dagger or unexpectedly heavy flower vase.

It is a little-known fact that the Midsomer constabulary responded to the crisis with a subterfuge and identity trick of their own. Jim Bergerac was enticed to fake his own death in the "St Helier Hovercraft" incident before reappearing in Midsomer under the name DCI Tom Barnaby.  "Barnaby" avoided the forced retirement due to Government cuts - even though he was well over the normal retirement age. Even an implausibly posh accent could not give away his secret to the remarkably dim locals.

But one man could not stem the tide - how could he compete with nearly two decades' worth of Oxford criminals? Already more villages in Midsomer have been emptied in family feuds than were wiped out by four centuries of Black Death.

Enough is enough.

It is time to end the Midsomer Experiment. Oxford must deal with its own problems. And John Nettles must be allowed to retire - at last - in peace.