The Diana Gene

In 1997 the United Kingdom had a mental breakdown. Grown men who had never had a thought for anything beyond their immediate circle of acquaintances and narrow fields of interest turned into foreigners. You know the kind of foreigners; the ones we used to see on the telly, ululating and self-harming in grief at the funeral of a family member. I remember how it used to make me glad to be British; to stoically bear tragedy and loss and to go on and get the job done “If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs...” I watched the wailing fuzzy-wuzzies with unconcealed disdain and a sense of, yes, some superiority.

Pith helmet, bristling moustache, rigid upper lip, sleeves rolled up and getting on with it; and that was just the women. The Boys Own Paper images of Tommy Atkins and his comrades cast from a similar mould, if it ever existed, is long gone and now Britain has truly become the mongrel nation many in our governments have long yearned for. Expressing grief is normal. Doing so en-masse and in public and so loudly and pathetically unreservedly is, well it’s not how things ought to be done; it’s not cricket. When that self-obsessed royal clothes horse died the process of turning the UK into the Middle East began in earnest.

The mass importation of people who neither looked like nor thought the same way we did was done with no concern to the effect on the indigenous. Positive discrimination was practised freely and openly in the name of the new idol of diversity, bringing unquantified and unqualified and too-rapid a change into how our public services operate and who they operate on behalf of. A blind eye was turned toward transgressions all who objected were berated and labelled as simple-minded racists. It appears to have worked; if we all originated in Africa, as some believe, the presence of our diverse cousins seems to have awoken the long-dormant mewling gene.

We no longer have to assemble in garment-rending mobs to loudly and openly mourn though; now we have the internet to do it for us. And all it takes is a tiny little trigger to get the tears flowing and the high-pitched shrieks synchronising into a cacophony of awful, self-pitying, stream of demands for relief devoid of reason. The border numbers released a few weeks ago had over half the country demanding controls on immigration. Now, however, the pictures of Aylan Kurdi have flipped opinion among the weak who are now demanding we fling our doors wide. People who normally don’t care much about anything and can happily spend hours revelling in video violence have come out of the woodwork all weepy when confronted with images of things they don’t normally have to deal with. Where is the common sense, the level head?

And across half of Europe it seems to be spreading. You would think, now that islam has shown its teeth, its infection of Europe would be curtailed. But no, now it’s adopt a Syrian week. I’m sure they are perfectly decent people, like the hard-working Pakistanis and Bangladeshis before them, but what of their kids? Will the agents and apologists of IS prey on their frailties and create another generation of ‘nice boys’ who turn into British born jihadis? It is foolish to pretend it will not happen. And what then? Will we just shrug and say something about it being the price we pay for decency?

New Towns Commission - Housing crisis? What housing crisis?

Emma Thompson says Britain’s unwillingness to take in Syrian refugees is racist.  But are we not just afraid of repeating what we have seen in front of our eyes? She says “If these people were white, European, that were coming from some dictatorship in Bosnia. If they were coming I think we would feel quite differently about it.” On the same day Richard Delingpole on Twitter said, “It's a brave or stupid man who speaks the truth while the current wave of immigration self-flagellation is going on. I'm not that man.” If self-defence is now racism isn’t it about time we all adopted a healthy respect for those who dare speak out?