Monday, October 31, 2005

Is it because I is English?

Well, now you come to mention it, yes!

The very first thing I’ve done this morning, before my cuppa and before I’ve opened and binned the 148 weekend emails for drugs, loans, an extra 3 inches on my old man and myriad Viagra offers in my ‘in box’, before all that…… I’ve put an official complaint to Trevor Phillips’ lot at the CRE. I’ve cited a prat of a Sunday Times columnist, whose name sounds like a brand of battery, for aggravated racial incitement.

After all, if they can censure Anne Robinson for saying that the Welsh are a bit glum, or Kilroy-Silk for his infamous Daily Express piece on the Muslim World, then this git must surely be heading for the Tower.

Why? Readers of yesterday’s post or yesterday’s Sunday Times will know the reason……

AA Gill, Sunday Times columnist, food critic and pal of Jeremy Clarkson has finally come out. He was born in Edinburgh, but was brought south to England when he was still a baby. He has spent the last 50 years living, breeding, earning a bloody good crust and imparting his special brand of sarcastic sciterati on my morning breakfast table every Sunday.

I’ve never liked the man. Arrogant, smug and snooty, I always thought of him as a bit repressed, a bit of a cold fish – a Deeside salmon maybe? I knew he was Scottish, and I knew he had a public school education – so when he ‘came out’ in yesterday mornings ‘paper, I was half expecting him to say how he’d fallen in love with Gordon Brown.

But no, a much easier target for Gill’s vitriol was staring at me in black and white across two full pages in the ‘Review’ section yesterday.

Gill declared he hated me, my wife, my kids, my dear old 83 year old Mum and 50 odd million other souls. Our collective crime? Being born English, of course…..

Amongst a whole heap of other things, Gill hates the way I queue, hates the way I laugh (something to do with sneering at others apparently), hates the way I say ‘sorry’ (all to do with saying ‘sorry’, but not actually meaning it)

But most of all, Gill hates my ‘English anger’- apparently, he reckons that ‘anger’ makes us English people ‘ugly’. Well, I know there’s some right old scroats and visually challenged Hilda Baker and Arthur Mullard types in good old Blighty – but what’s new? Ugly people inhabit all of the world - and, Gill, you're no 'Monarch of the Glen' yourself, bud.

He hates my aggressive, negative, bellicollic, teeth-grinding and all-round angst. He hates the fact that I and the rest of my family - and indeed, the whole English nation for that matter, just aren’t too‘happy’ about things….

Well, you’re damn right there double A. Is he having a laugh or what? You just do not get it double A, do you? We’re all much more pissed off more than angry really, pissed off with our English lives being run by a Scottish McMafia, Scottish Raj and Scottish Artizania.

But I’m personally particularly pissed off when finding out that a sneering Scottish twat, who makes a privileged living in this country, makes a small fortune with his crappola articles and then tells his readers what a bunch of tossers he thinks they all are. Maybe it’ll come back to bite him. Maybe he’s just had a bit of a Gerald Ratner moment?….. I do hope so.

But the best thing is – there’s even more of this anti English shite in next week’s Sunday Times. Next week, Gill is writing about ‘alcohol and the English’. The articles are from a book that Gill has written called ‘The Angry Island’ – be sure to leave it off your Christmas stocking lists.

And finally…. while we’re on the subject of ‘hating’ things….
I hate the way that the English people are prepared to actually take a two page, broadsheet broadside from a failed novelist and all round snob. And the only reason this tosser has written it is his belief that the English race are so damned downtrodden and Pavlovian-brainwashed as to not even stir from our Raj induced, intravenous habit of guilt, of propaganda, of slumber.

Time to wake up.

If you haven't yet read this juvenile drivel in yesterday's Sunday Times - be my guest


Jack Asher said...

This bullshit has spared me the need to ever buy the Sunday Times again.

Jack Ash

lauderdalelad said...

The problem with Gill, a former drug addict, is that he is not, as he would like to be, a toff. He would dearly love to be an English aristocrat or at least a Gentleman. But he wasn't born one and can never become one. Everything he writes shows that he is not a Gentleman, the way he dresses shows the same. His inferiority complex drives him to write such drivel and is why he is the most dislked man in English journalism.

Snafu said...

Hope you succeed:) I doubt the CRE will be concerned though.

How about contacting the Police!?!

Howard G said...

Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. I haven't read quite so much bile in just 2 pages of text ever. A A Gill creates such a, well, angry impression, which he claims is an English trait. In common with virtually all the responses by English readers, what really gets me is the man's total hypocrisy and equally total lack of humour, or even "wit", as he defined it. He reminds me of H G Wells' comment about Joseph Conrad "One could always baffle Conrad by saying "humour". It was one of our damned English tricks he had never learned to tackle". I don't mind people hating the English as long as they sod off back home and do it from there. Biting the hand that feeds you is not an attractive or honourable trait. But so much pent up anger on Gill's part prompts the question why, and I do not think it is to be found in the reasons he gave. His pal Jeremy Clarkson, (the use of the singular may for all I know be strictly accurate) may have given us a clue in a recent article of his lampooning multiculturalism when he said that he personally had no ethnic minority friends unless it was A A Gill who apparently insists he is Indian. Could it be that A A is an Anglo Indian? No problem if he is but if so and if, as I suspect, this is the proximate cause for the massive chip on his shoulder, I suggest that he consult a shrink to master his demons rather than making a grouchy career out of it. Chill, Gill, you'll get an ulcer!