Plans have just been released to celebrate “Britishness” at the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games. They include a village green with cricket being played, a windmill redolent of a John Constable landscape, sheep gently grazing in the meadow, and artificial clouds ready to rain on the parade in the unlikely event that it’s not chucking it down.
But I was struck more by the obvious omissions of “Britishness” which cry out for pride of place. Where, for instance, are the gangs of black youths in hoodies riding around on stolen bikes, brandishing knives and Molotov cocktails, ready to burn down their local community centre? Where are the packs of randy Asians chasing vulnerable underage white girls and brandishing bottles of vodka? Where is the classroom of obese kids surfing the Internet for porn whilst munching an enormous beefburger with fries?
I hope this panorama of pastoral bliss will also include a number of double decker buses standing idle with union members from Unite, or Disrupt, or Plain Bloody Awkward, brandishing placards demanding an extra £500 minimum for overtime, or else. And I would like to see Bob ‘Bogie’ Crowe leaning out of his tax payer subsidised council house and ranting at the fat cats and the enemies of the working classes, conveniently forgetting that he too is a fat cat, but of a feral breed.
Let’s not forget all the illegal immigrants, hand in hand with their lawyers, clutching their love children, and giving two fingers to the Establishment and their victims of crime.
And finally, no opening ceremony would be complete without a religious theme, so I suggest a sprint round the track by the outgoing Archbishop of Canterbury, hotly pursued by a pack of rabid gays and feminist wannabee bishops, and a gaggle of Muslims screaming “Infidel” at the poor unfortunate man.
Now that’s what I call the quintessence of “Britishness”!