AND why we’re in trouble
It’s been a long day already and the sun’s only just setting. From north of London I’ve driven to Gatwick Airport (south of London) and back twice; it’s no wonder I had to be up at 4.30am. Along the way I’ve crossed paths with a few people. At the M25 Clackett Lane Services a fella (Moor) served me in Costa Coffee and a girl (German or Swiss) took my money for a paper in WH Smiths. Then there was the woman (Arab) at the Emirates information desk in Gatwick. While at Gatwick (second visit) I had to scan and email some documents, so it was to the Sofitel opposite the North Terminal where two receptionists (one Polish or Hungarian, the other a Serb or Croat) helped me out. When I filled up at a BP garage the attendant (but of course) was Pakistani or Indian with an accent to suggest he hasn’t been here that long. There was also a quick hello when I arrived back home to the nurse (African) who cares for the old dear down the road.
Let’s not forget, no trip or two round the M25 is complete without dodging a continent load of HGV’s, number plates showing from Spain to Lithuania.
The point is, dear reader, it’s no wonder the welfare bill now outstrips income tax receipts. A dwindling band of productively-employed Britons are running faster and faster to keep their heads above water, in great part because more and more of their money is being siphoned off to the always growing army of welfare crack addicts. In the meantime, the place is filling up with foreigners getting out of bed at the crack of dawn on a Sunday to do a minimum wage job.
At some point today I wondered what we’re going to do as a people when the weight of debt and inflation finally collapses the economy. We don’t make anything anymore. Stupid politicians in Westminster and their venal bosses in Brussels will do for the City. So what are we going to offer, how will we make a living? We’ve long told ourselves that English is the global language, the very language of business and that’s to our great advantage.
Let me tell you, Johnny Foreigner is speaking it as well as most of us and better than a Great British underclass which now communicates in grunts and they’re doing it with a smile. Cunning foreign sods they are, they employ words and phrases such as “good morning”, “yes please”, “thank you” and “goodbye”.
Sorry old chums, there’s no language advantage now. We’d better learn some new skills then. “Getting out of bed in the morning” would be a new one for millions of Britons for whom “work” is a four letter word. Going abroad for work like Oz, Bomber, Neville and the gang in Auf Wiedersehen, Pet won’t be an option since we’ll be competing with the type of people who get out of bed at the crack of dawn on a Sunday to do a minimum wage job. Whatever we do, it has to involve a rediscovery of the work ethic and an abandonment of morally destructive welfare. If we don’t, these hard working foreigners will clear off when this place is finally sunk, and there’ll be no-one left to supply any welfare crack.