Katie Hopkins launches a scathing attack on Tracey Connelly the mother of Baby P

KATIE HOPKINS: 'How dare Baby P's revolting mum claim we owe her a new life'

Free after four years, she wants taxpayers to fund a future she doesn't deserve, writes Katie Hopkins
Having a baby does not make you a mum.

Just as having a pet does not make you an animal lover – more than 37,000 animals were dumped by their owners in England and Wales last year.

Tracey Connelly is one such owner. Except she didn't have the heart to dump the baby she treated like an animal. She let baby Peter be tortured to death by her boyfriend and his paedophile brother instead.

Now she wants to try again; new house, new body, new man and a replacement baby P.

She is campaigning for a new two-bed council house. She says she was the victim in the whole Baby P saga and is owed a new start in life. 

That new start will also include a new man. Despite gorging on chocolate all day – 24 stone Tracey expects diet pills and a gastric band. I would take that band and fit it neatly around her throat. A source says she eats cakes, sweets and eight Double Deckers a day. With any luck she might get hit by one as well.

Pictures of her fat hand showing off her new nails are enough to make me ring HMRC just to have someone to shout at. She allowed her son's nails to be ripped out with pliers by the men using baby P for sport. Her talons are her pride and joy. I would happily tear them from her fingers sideways.

Sometimes I wonder about this country we live in; where a woman allows her baby to be killed, but sees herself as the victim. Where she is given freedom after four years inside, and we fund her future and new start when her son has none. Where we offer surgery to help her lose the weight she is stuffing her face to put on.

We are paying for the grim cycle that led to the death of Baby P to start all over again.

I do have hope. I hope I bump into you one day Tracey Connelly, in a crowded place where everyone can hear. Because there are some things I need to tell you:

You are ugly Tracey, inside and out. You listened to your son scream with pain in a bargain with your devil of a boyfriend where you sold your soul.

You are fat and revolting Tracey. I hope you keep on eating until you make yourself a new prisoner in your own home and die a lonely death in pain. Like your son.

You are never going to find a man. You may find a monster but you belong together.

You may have had a baby. You may have another. But your baby will be taken away from you and you will never ever be a mum.