What do you get when you hook up the best social satirist of the moment with a group of musicians who have been scientifically proven to be the best back bands in the world. This –
I stopped off in a cafe in town for a cup of tea and a slice of cake (English readers of a certain age will have read those last nine words and in their own mind applied a cod cornish accent, but enough of 70’s children’s TV) and through unintentional eavesdropping…or more to the point “do you have to talk so loudly as I’m trying to enjoy a slice of Carrot Cake and a nice hot Earl Grey” overheard the phrase “they have no idea of English culture” as part of a general rant about migrant workers from Eastern Europe. I can’t agree more, your average Polish plumber or Hungarian handyman really doesn’t fit into our work ethic. He will probably turn up when he says he will, work really hard, makes no attempt to rip you off and misses every opportunity to shout offensive remarks at passing women. If we are not careful we will end up losing all of our working class traditions. And imagine if we replace those council office jobs worths with Indian waiters, not only would they be more attentive to your needs, when you got your Council Tax bill, there would be free mints with it.
Those old enough to remember when we first joined the EEC in 1973, in fact few alive at the time will ever forget the troubles. Hordes of Dutch people pouring into the country, forcing us to wear clogs and eat waxy cheese. I was just watching some footage of an interview with a pensioner who said,” It was terrible, One windmill would go up in the street, then another went up next door to the co-op and before you knew it the whole neighbourhood stank of Tulips, people were cycling everywhere and speaking impeccable English with slightly arousing accents.”
“Then it was the bloody Belgians with their strong fancy lager and their yummy chocolates. Next came the Luxembressians?….Luxembients?…Luxuriants?..Luxembourgers, whatever, remember those buggers with their…well, um…I can’t actually remember any of their grossly exaggerated national characteristics, but that’s what we didn’t like about them.”
We expect immigrants to behave like British people but only to a point, I mean, no British person would tolerate the crap that is dished out to Britain’s immigrant population. Who is it that stands in his fast food shop taking abuse from drunken English youths at closing time? Is it the English chip shop owner who is insulted and intimidated? Is it the English cabbie who has people being sick in his cab and then refusing to pay for the clean up cost? (Mind you I wouldn’t have been sick in the first place if that Turkish bloke hadn’t sold me a dodgy Donner, but that’s hardly the point.) Imagine if every night hundreds of Nepalese kids were spilling out of the pubs on to the streets, brawling with each other and then staggering off into the English Rose Tea Rooms and shouting “Oi, whitey, turn that bloody string quartet music off.”
Yes, Britain is a small, crowded country. Yes we might need to make some room, but here is the answer. It might sound a bit controversial but lets deport all of the crap English people. Lets get rid of Jeffery Archer, maybe he can go and write books in Western Tibet where he wont be bothered. People like Robert Kilroy Silk, maybe he can revive his media career with a radio phone in, say in rural Moldova. (where no-one has a telephone!) Basically any racist football fan or right wing columnist or reader of The Daily Mail who feels at liberty to swipe at and snipe at racial minorities from their privileged position can do so from a country were nothing works and they have to work long hard hours for low wages. With them gone we will have room for the people bringing new skills and a better work ethic not to mention humility to this country…something in very short supply at the moment. Obviously none of this applies to The french…they are worse than we are and you have to draw the line somewhere.
I overheard a conversation today where someone described a road in my old neighbourhood, Spring Gardens in Swindon, as being a rat run. For those reading this who are not familiar with the term, a rat run may sound like a charity fund raising exercise held by rodents looking to collect money to aid the crippling cheese dependency that is widespread in their ranks, but it actually describes a small or unsuitable side street that is used by town centre through traffic as a short cut. It is possible that you will have witnessed such a dastardly practice being undertaken the last time you cut through a side street to miss the urban congestion. Apparently the problem got worse after the council spent millions of pounds on the recent year long re-modelling of the Princes Street area in an effort to deter traffic from the main roads in that part of town. Who would have foreseen that the cars would just cut through the back streets instead? Well, not the council.
When I was living in and more importantly parking in that area I did go to the Council Offices to complain about the situation. After a very helpful receptionist pointed out the sign that lead to the road planning office I headed off down a corridor, went up two flights of stairs, along another corridor, out through a fire escape, across a car park , down some more stairs and found myself in basement. It was at this point that I realised that I was actually now nearer the pub, so I went for a pint instead.