Thursday, April 05, 2007

An Old Git Writes....

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


FlyingRodent said...


I, of course, belong to the little known clan of Caledonius Smartarsicus, and we never engage in violent conduct.

You might not believe this, but we suck up to everybody just to distinguish ourselves from England fans - in the seventies, everyone was afraid of Scottish supporters.

It's absolutely pathetic, but I'd say it's better than getting into fisticuffs with every Johnny Foreigner.

After all, some of them are quite good at fighting.

Far better to hit the bar and pretend we like the continentals, grease-ridden vermin that they are.

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FlyingRodent said...

Now that I come to think of it, and speaking as a Celtic supporter, we'll take Steven Gerrard, Frank Lampard, Ashley Cole and even Crazy-legs Crane impersonating Peter Crouch.

If you guys don't think they're any good, I'm sure us barbarian Picts could find a home for them.

weasel said...

Ahh, I remember the decision early in the Thatcherreich to ban the annual England-Scotland match at Wembley due to Tartan stormtroopers invading the shire by hiding in the back of HGVs (they were banned from the trains) and storming North West London in search of a mythical place called "Soho" (they were sadly off course).

As a Norwich fan, I have long held the Scottish footballer in high regard. Robert Fleck and Bryan Gunn kept us alive in the early nineties, and even one of our better English lads had the last name "Gordon".