St Patrick's Day

Just to say that we will celebrate St Patrick's Day when there are St George's Day parades in Dublin.

Until then, God save the Queen and Rule Britannia!

Happy St George's Day

The World's Gone Mad

It seems we are undergoing biblical scale epidemics of pestilence, famine, disease and sheer fuckwittery. I don't think it's me getting old and coming over all apocalyptic, as older people are wont to do, but things are looking decidedly iffy.

Ebola. Now then, my reaction would be to ban people from west Africa travelling to the UK, including recent visitors to west Africa from elsewhere. Don't tell me with all the Orwellian state surveillance we have in 2014 this is not feasible. We can surely check on UK databases, Europol and Interpol databases and any other number of national and international databases. But I suspect politicians are scared of being accused of racism or of threatening a multi-million pound trade deal with some African despot. Meanwhile the ever suffering populace are warned to brace ourselves, ebola is coming to a town near you!

Meanwhile in Iraq and Syria, maybe Turkey too soon, we have barbarians from IS/ISIS/ISIL (their name changes more often than UKIP's policies) rampaging around slaughtering innocents and beheading taxi drivers from Salford. Quite why any sane human would leave the UK to go and help in Syria, Iraq or anywhere else in that part of the world, unless armed to the teeth and backed by the SAS, is beyond me, but the poor deluded westerners who have been hacked to death over there certainly did not deserve it, nor do the Kurds and others being slaughtered in much bigger numbers.

On the other hand we have Islamic nutjobs who were born and raised in the UK, I refuse to call them 'British', popping over to Syria to behead infidels. The latest estimate is that over 2000 of these young people have left to slaughter innocents. Again we must know who these people are as we must know who their sympathisers and helpers in the UK are. We should gather those in the UK together with any returning jihadist nutjobs, give them a quick training course then send them out to west Africa to work as closely as possible with ebola victims. They could regard it as martyrdom and look forward to their 72 virgins when their work was done.

What current events really highlight is the total contempt in which we, the populace are held by the political class. The first duty of the state is to protect its citizens. Our government, and previous governments, have clearly not given a damn about the British people.

While all this is going on there is a pathetic debate which started in Scotland, about increasing the grip of politicos and bureaucrats on our lives by devolution. In my part of the world we already have town councillors, city councillors, county councillors, MPs and MEPs. How many more of these parasites would be inflicted on us with devolution? Maybe MNWPs (Member of the North West Parliament)? Either way you can bet it will involve more elected politicians and layers of civil servants.

Increasingly it seems clear that the end of the UK is nigh. We should just bite the bullet and campaign for English independence. To be perfectly honest too much time, effort, money and in many instances lives have been wasted trying to please the Welsh, Scots and Irish. Set them free, which would be a great relief for vast numbers of patriotic English people. But free them on our terms, no generous financial settlements that aren't deserved and strict border and immigration controls. We can't do that while members of the European Union? Well they can expel us, numerous birds with one stone and no need for a costly referendum.

BBC, Language, Waffle and Rhubarb

I've done it again. I keep promising to stop, but I'm weak and flawed. I really did try this time, even my wife supported me unconditionally, but I fell at the first hurdle. My name's Gregg, and I'm a radio phone-in addict.

We had a tremendous night last night with friends in Rochdale, but driving back up North this morning I listened to Nicky Campbell on BBC5Live. I know I shouldn't, the BBC is bad for the old blood pressure at the best of times, but when Nicky Campbell is on well, need I say more? But it got worse, after 9-00am up pops the dreaded phone-in. Even Mrs B was frothing like a rabid dog, and I had a terrible attack of radio rage. It was that old chestnut "we English are so lazy about learning other languages". Aaarrggghh!

You see, I don't subscribe to this terribly English habit of self-flagellation and loathing. I happen to think that by and large this is a pretty fine place to live and we are amongst the most tolerant people in the world, if anything maybe too tolerant which is why it sometime spills over into the aforementioned self loathing. We have giant parties for St Patrick's Day, we have the biggest Caribbean carnival in the world in Notting Hill. But wear a red rose or a Cross of St George on 23rd April and you're an evil fascist who wants to bring back the Empire and slavery.

So this time it was this language nonsense that got me angry. The BBC does that regularly but, as I am forced to finance the rotten organisation by the tax/theft method of the licence fee, I sometimes get the urge to sample what I'm forced to pay for, although I really shouldn't. The question of the English and foreign languages usually gets me angry because all the pseudo-intellectuals and Islington types love to thrash us with our supposed inability to master other languages. Absolute merde! See what I did there? Or are you too English?

The English are very pragmatic. If we have to do something we do it, and do it very well on the whole. Apart from sport which we do a lot of but not very well. In fact we even did world domination in a very understated way. Gradually it dawned on the world that we controlled two thirds of it. We did this very nicely and, although we were involved in regular spats, we did not do it in a violently militaristic way that led to regular world war like some people I could mention. We did it in a very gentlemanly manner as we did when we retreated to our rightful position as a small island off the coast of Northern Europe, and gave those countries back to their rightful owners. What we left behind were great bureaucracies, if 'great' is the right word, fine engineering works and the English language. Bingo! That's it. In a very strange way the Empire actually is the reason we don't tend to speak foreign languages as much as some people do.

Imagine if the Germans had actually been a nation state before 1871 and they, rather than us, had built an empire that controlled two thirds of the earth. There's a pretty good chance that the USA would be a German speaking country, as would Canada, Australia, New Zealand, much of Africa and so on. OK, they'd probably have different names too, but I'm sure you get the drift. In that case we would all be sat here, speaking numerous languages, watching US TV with English subtitles and air traffic controllers would be speaking German, the international language. There would probably be phone-ins today in Germany moaning about how bad they are at learning other languages. Or maybe not, no lazy national stereotypes here, but the Germans are not as prone to self loathing as we are.

But what language does a poor German learn when the world speaks German. Does he learn English? Spanish? Italian? Flemish? Well you need to learn a language to be nice to people when you're on holiday so they say. So it'll be Greek this year, Bulgarian next year, French next year. Poor Heinz would do nothing but learn foreign languages in case he one day has a holiday in a particular country. It would be stupid. So it is for us.

I admire people who speak other languages. I get a great deal of satisfaction when I use my very basic French or Spanish and manage to communicate effectively. But let's not get hung up on languages and use them as sticks with which to beat ourselves. It's not because we are arrogant, nor because we are lazy and it is certainly not linguistic or cultural imperialism. It's an accident of history, a by product of our past, so let's just be pleased that when we are shopping in a little village on the Amazon, as we were a few years back, the shopkeeper speaks English.

Right, now that's off my chest no more radio phone ins for me.

Happy St George's Day

O Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God and our most gentle Queen and Mother look down in mercy upon England, thy dowry, and upon us who greatly hope and trust in thee.

By thee it was that Jesus, our Saviour and our hope was given unto the world; and He has given thee to us that we might hope still more.

Plead for us thy children, whom thou didst receive and accept at the foot of the cross, O Sorrowful Mother, Intercede for our separated brethren, that with us in the one true fold, they may be united to the Chief Shepherd, the Vicar of thy Son.

Pray for us all, dear Mother, that by faith, fruitful in good works we may all deserve to see and praise God, together with thee in our heavenly home.

AMEN.

Composed by Cardinal Wiseman, supplied by The Guild of Our Lady of Ransom.

The British Abroad

It's time for the truth. When on holiday we tend to avoid other British people, especially in France and especially ex-pats. There, that feels better.

So let me now get really bitchy. It's the posh buggers who really tend to piss us off. The ones who sit in cafes talking very loudly about whatever career made them so wealthy, usually now retired, and how tourists are spoiling their favourite bastide towns. Of course they are on holiday, but it's the 'plebs' who are the 'tourists' in their eyes, meaning everybody but themselves.

They then rattle on about the marvellous food at Chez le Ripoff in Chateugorleymand-Sur-Le-Rive Planchette, a definite throwing down of the gauntlet to somebody like me. So that night you tootle off to lower the tone of Chez le Ripoff. After pate ou salad followed by duck ou steak ou pizza finished off with glace ou creme brulee ou assiete de fromage, yet again, you leave the place as it shuts at 9 00pm, wondering what the crashing old bore was on about, it was the same menu as in every other restaurant in every other town in France. Apart, of course, from the one regional speciality such as cassoulet, snails or tartiflette. That's the problem with so many British people who drool over France, they believe the myth of French food.

Then you get told by some herbert on the next table in the cafe you really must visit the market which opens tomorrow at 8 00am, but be sure to get there early. So you crawl out of your pit and stroll around the market. Wow, look at that selection of sausages and salamis. Wow, look at that cheese stall. Wow, look at that fruit and veg stall, and that one there, and that other one. Wow look at that caravan selling rotisserie chickens, just the same as those in Carrefour but three times as expensive. In fact you see that all the stuff is exactly the same as in the supermarket, but at least twice as much. But we must keep up the myth of the wonderful French markets, after all we're British.

We went on a short trip down the river from Bergerac this week, very nice it was too. But we had to keep our heads down as there was a foursome of crashng bores from the Home Counties over the aisle, or is it gangway on a boat? Anyway, they actually complained that on the hour long trip we hadn't seen a single chateau, and there had been one on the leaflet. The poor girl had to explain that the leaflet was for trips by the same company in various locations, this one had no chateaux. They were still chunnering about it, very loudly, an hour later in a cafe in the old town.

Then there are the boring ex-pats. Obviously not all of them are bad, we were with a great couple of ex-pats this week, but being sweepingly generalistic ex-pats are to be avoided comme le plague!

We met a couple this week, twenty years in the Dordogne, who still spoke as if they were the heroes who had colonised Mars rather than Eymet. Their big proof of assimilating was going to Catholic mass, even though Anglicans, it really gave them that French feeling. Bugger me, I've been going to mass for 50 years, I must be a Frenchman! They still moaned about the heat, and how cold it was in the winter. They moaned about the French breakfast cereal, but knew where to buy British. Of course they kept up with Eastenders on satellite and couldn't do without their Sunday morning fru ups. They were aghast that we weren't contemplating moving there for good. Why stay in England?

Now then, Eymet, a place only to be visited with a submachine gun and enough live rounds to obliterate all the ex-pats. There is even an ex-pat cricket team and every cafe table seems to have an obligatory retird colonel gobbing off to an ex-pat retired engineer about how things in Blighty are falling apart. Course colonel, we're just waiting for your coup so you can save us all, run up the flag at 6 00pm every night and raise your gin and tonic to Her Majesty, just how you do every night in Eymet.

Oh yes, I nearly forgot. Ignore that self-knocking British bollocks too, usually by British people trying to be oh so Francais, about dress sense. It is definitely the Germans who are the worst dressed, closely followed by the Dutch with the French coming up on the rails. Give the British their due, sartorially we are currently way ahead but of course, the British love knocking themselves, don't they?!!

The FIFA World Cup Guide

Our noble army of Ingerlund fans have started arriving in foreign parts. But we really know the World Cup is approaching because the health fascists have kicked off before the games have.

It's strange this year because there haven't been dire warnings of violence in South Africa, probably because there is so much there normally anyway it'll just blend in, and the police at airports haven't been confiscating passports from people wearing football shirts on their way to Cape Town or Marbella. But paranoia is still rampant.

What is really surprising this time is that the health fascist paranoics are targetting us, the armchair fans. I've seen fascists in the media lecturing us about reducing our alcohol intake when Ingerlund play. My problem with that is if I don't get completely bladdered I remember how shit the game was the next day, that's not good, especially if you remember who missed that final penalty in the shoot out with Germany/Argentina/Portugal/Italy etc.

They've also been lecturing us about eating healthy food such as Meditteranean salad, veggie kebabs and low fat dips with your portion of two Pringles per game. Now in my humble opinion that is never going to rescue your liver from the fifteen pints of lager, two bottles of wine and half a bottle of Bacardi consumed thanks to the early kick offs. And that's before you go out to drown your sorrows, or a German tourist if they beat us.

I was brought up believing that mopping that level of alcohol up, thus avoiding cirrhosis, needs pork scratchings (x 6 packets), cheese and onion crisps (x 10 packets) and a donner kebab at half time followed by chipsticks (x 4) and a packet of Dorritos with full fat hummus for the second half. Then after the game a chicken vindaloo, Bombay potato, keema rice and a garlic nan finished off with a mango kulfi, all washed down with four pints of Kingfisher.

Just to be on the safe side you should then ideally have half a pound of stilton and an optional half bottle of port when you stagger back to the house. If indigestion is a worry have two or three large measures of Armagnac before bed. If you still remember the awful game and are worried about a sleepless night then open a decent malt such as The Glenlivet and have two or three decent measures before bo-bos.

Now that's what real football fans do with the cash they save from staying at home to watch it on the telly. That's also why you see so many fat tattoed men walking about in replica Ingerlund shirts that are so tight they look like whole body tattoos.

But the strangest warning from a nannying organisation this year is to wives and girlfriends. They are basically being told to leg it if Ingerlund lose because they are liable for a bit of domestic violence. Bollocks! The thing with multi-racial Britain is that whoever beats Ingerlund, there is always some Johnny from foreign parts to batter rather than your loved ones.

For example my neighbour is a Yank, now he'd better hope for a good Ingerlund result on Saturday night. Meanwhile Mrs B is desperately trying to find an Algerian living locally for next Wednesday, just in case.

Winning Back The Ashes-Fantastic

How good to see England's cricketers triumph and win back the Ashes. Well done lads.

I must say that Ricky Ponting was a true gent in his genorosity in defeat. His attitude was only rivalled by Gordon Brown and the Queen in singing the praises of the England cricket team. So unexpectedly magnanimous of a Scot and a German!

Proud To Be English?

An excellent article in the Times online today by Melanie Reid about Englishness. I've always been happy that English patriotism is cooly understated and I particularly liked the following paragraph:

For me, Englishness resides in character, not anything physical. It is an indefinable stew of tolerance, decency, resourcefulness and humour that only manifests itself when called upon. Englishness means being determinedly unshowy; modest to the point, often, of crashing dullness. Englishness means possessing a deep sense of fairness, usually completely inarticulated, and a prize-winning ability for a good moan. Englishness may be vulgar: whether it be shell suits and pitbulls; or monogrammed initials on your well cover - God bless you, Sir Peter Viggers - but on the whole it would rather do you a good turn than a bad.

I tend to make my point when having to complete a ridiculous 'equality form'. They usually contain 'White British', White Irish' etc., etc. So I usually tick 'White Other' and, if given the option, add 'English'.

Nations that obsess about their identities and are overtly patriotic tend to be proportionately nasty and unpleasant. Just look at the sectarian murder this weekend in Northern Ireland. It seems to me that Northern Ireland is about one group of 'patriots' versus another. Look at the fascist regimes of the 1930s and beyond, highly patriotic, highly destructive.

Welsh and Scottish nationalism tend to be corny and vulgarly contrived, often based on anti-English sentiment. I would hate England to make a conscious decision to become more overtly patriotic, that is a very dangerous path. I like our understated patriotism thank you.