Spirit of the Blitz

I work in a once-thriving area of England which has degenerated, over the past few years, into a shithole. It is a rural community with a few town centres and was the hub of several sectors of industry, the last of which emigrated to Malaysia a couple of years ago in the name of Globalisation.

It is not a good idea to go into the towns at night, because they are ruled by yobs and chavs. The pubs' doors are locked and you have to ring a bell to get in - this is to stop the pikeys getting in and thus drinking the place dry with their ill-gotten gains before wrecking it and scaring away the rest of the customers. Because it isn't actually illegal to go into a pub and drink it dry, the Old Bill can't do anything about it. It is illegal to wreck the pub, but by the time OB turn up, the pikeys have done a runner. The OB know where they are but won't go there, and I don't blame them.

So here is a community which is largely scared to leave the house after dark, with a huge unemployment problem and very little hope.

Last night I went to one of the smaller towns, because I was late leaving work, so I picked up a Chinese Takeaway (which was rather good, actually) and, whilst waiting for it, went into the pub next door. I have been to this pub before but not for a few years.

Pubs in these areas go very quiet when you go into them. People turn and look at you, and stop talking in case you are from "the authorities". And if you attempt to strike up some sort of conversation they accuse you of earwigging (a term which I believe means to eavesdrop) and can become quite violent. But it has changed. Noticeably. Drastically, in fact.

In the war (the proper one, not the political journalism-run ones we have now) there were The Germans. All were bad and evil and said "Raus" and "Schnell". I know this, because I used to read comics when I was a young Marvo. But they were the Common Enemy. And us Brits rally when there is a common enemy.

I wasn't there. My Dad, Great-Uncle Marvo was though, and my Grandad, Great-Great-Uncle Marvo. My Uncle, also named Marvo, was killed in it, by the bad, evil Germans. I'm sure he didn't particularly want to be. And I'm fucking sure he didn't go and fight The Germans because he wanted a world like the one we now live in, where we're ruled by them and The French, and where we're not allowed to sing Rule Brittania. So that was a waste.

I now know some Germans. I've worked in France. I like some Germans very much, and I even like some of The French. They are not the enemy.

I'll tell you who the enemy is, because last night, in this pub, the Spirit was back, with a vengeance. The Brits are rallying again. And they know their enemy.

It is called The Government. It is called New Labour. It is called The Banks.

According to the pubulation, they are "lying shitbags", "fuckers", and many other things, none of which I would regard as complimentary. The Glorious Leader's unfortunate child episode is seen as God-given retribution, so that won't work either. Posters are a waste of time.

The real people know their enemy. They don't give a monkey's which lot they are, either. Anyone knocking on doors asking for a vote is more than likely to be at the business end of a baseball bat in very short order.

These people need a leader. I am not one.

I'll tell you this - if these people don't get a better option, they will vote Nazi. That is a fact.

Where is the leader? They know who Nick Griffin is, because he's a loud-mouthed one-eyed loony, and at least he's got some neck. Ask them who the leader of UKIP is. You'll get some pretty vacant looks.

Who actually is it, anyway? I thought his name was Nigel, but apparently it's Lord. Either way, these people, real people, ordinary people, the silent majority, don't know either.

UKIP - get your fucking act together, why don't you?

Please feel free to get whoever it is that runs the show to read this, thank you.