I occasionally get written correspondence away from the comments sections of my various posts about something I have written or the state of the world- you can imagine the sort of thing. Rarely do I pay much attention, but this morning a rather profound missive jumped out at me and I thought I'd share it with you all:
It has come to a pretty pass when Britain has been reduced to a blubbing fat boy trembling in the corner of the lower sixth common room, half fearing and half anticipating a beating-slash-molestation at the hands of a apparently smaller yet much rougher boy.
I speak of course of two recent events. The first is the capture of 15 bell-bottom-wearing floating pooves in the Shatt al Arab (by the bloody Iranian Coastguard of all people: not even proper fundamentalist loonies) which has been covered ad nauseam elsewhere.
The second, more recent, event was the shameful defeat of travelling Manchester United association football fans in a pitched battle with the Italian security forces. These Italian security forces are of course direct descendants of the military and police who made such a hash of invading the Greek and subduing the Ethiopian during the '39-45 show, whereas the travelling 'Red Devils' are the more recent offspring of some of the most fearsome gangs to stalk the bones of the Holy Roman Empire since the Visigoths. And yet they had their arses handed to them on a plate by a gang of wildly gesticulating ponces in motorcycle helmets and Versace jumpsuits.
These are just the latest incidents in an ever-increasing list of troubling signs that Britain is not the primus inter thuggus that we used to be. These modern day 'Chavs' (or as we called them in my youth, 'Trevors'), are supposed to redeem their empty and violent existence by joining the army and falling on hand grenades, or roughing up foreign sports enthusiasts and coppers, not thanking the Iranian president for the headscarf or moaning that the Officer Mario hit them while they were innocently waiting for the bus. Mr. Blair's government may boast of a yob culture second to none, but I am afraid the evidence points to the unstoppable emasculation of the United Kingdom. Unless drastic measures are taken soon, we may well end up with a female prime minister, or even a female Queen.
I remain sir, your obedient servant,
Dicky Bumchutney-Staines, Colonel (rtd), late of the Queens Own Border Collies"