What caught my eye yesterday was the
you-couldn’t-make-it-up story about one Louise Raw who was angered by a pie.
Yep, a pie. It seems pie are no longer just squared, they are also racist.
Think about this for a moment; racist pie. What next, misogynist mousse, sexist
soufflé? It can surely only be a matter of hours before it is all blamed on
Brexit and the referendum results overturned, the Gregorian calendar returned
to Julian and all the brown people relocated in their mud huts. Then and only
then will the outrage brigade be satisfied. What am I saying; they will never
be satisfied.
It’s only the frivolity of this idiotic offence-seeking
that has taken the edge off the worst thing to happen to Britain in a
generation. Yes, Bake Off is fucking off to Channel 4, minus its most important
ingredients – Mel & Sue. Okay, I admit I’ve never watched it but ‘er
indoors is actually incapable of functioning without it, as are millions of
others. It can only be a matter of time before reports of various fragile
conditions being triggered begin to overwhelm the emergency services. “Hello,
ma’am, police here. What seems to be the problem? Not rising, you say? We’ll despatch
an armed biscotti unit immediately.”
I’ve almost finished reading Bill Bryson’s The Road to
Little Dribbling, his affectionate follow up to Notes From a Small Island and
even Bill, while still clearly in love with the dear old thing, knows that
she’s lost the plot. The mostly calm, understated, stoic and tolerant land of
just forty years ago has become a rabid, frothing extremist; a
placard-wielding, social justice tribal warrior with the intellect of a slug,
the energy of a slug and the charisma of... you get the picture. Vibrancy is
one of those attractively-sounding attributes that turns out to just means
noise. See also, multiculturalism
We British used to be fascinatingly dull on the surface
with all the fervour buttoned up and hidden away; maybe this is how we were
able to sneak up on history and ambush it so often. As small boys we were being
trained for empire and those woggles, toggles and tabs in our Baden Powell
socks hid a determination to succeed. Hell, we even openly carried knives, without
any public outrage, so that come what may we were always prepared. No stick
left un-whittled. But put all that enthusiasm on the surface and we’re no better
than Johnny Foreigner, with all their public displays of emotion.
Remember, Remember Empire Day, the 24th of May
And today they are sticking the knife in David Cameron, a
perfectly honourable man with honest intentions and a sense of humour, to boot.
What happened to quietly and methodically eradicating all traces of your
predecessor without drawing too much attention to it all? Nah, you can stuff
your progress and your vibrancy where the sun never sets. Let’s resurrect Empire Day... because it is something to be proud of. Slice of pie, anybody?
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