It's always been a great little community here in Lighter Piddle, folks helping each other out, aunts playfully squeezing the cheeks of well-meaning ruffians and so on, although of course no-one has forgotten that Dennis Johnson of Plover Close almost certainly saw a Sikh gentleman buying a packet of Toffos at the all-night garage on the Kimpton Road last June, although admittedly it was dark and the motorist in question may simply have been wearing a red hat rather than a turban, but then there are no racists here let me assure you and we don't let such petty matters trouble us, as I myself was saying to Peter Mayhew up at the Manor only the other day as we enjoyed his Bob Marley album.
Of course, it's all a very different oven of gefilte fish over in Higher Piddle where things have gone somewhat to pot of late. A close friend of mine knows a person who met someone who described what I can only call an incident which occurred in the Spar supermarket on the high street. The person who met the acquaintance of my close friend was politely and humbly stood in line with a bag of carrots which she had intended to purchase in order to feed some orphans and homeless kittens, when a Muslim woman dressed in three full length burkhas with only a snorkel protruding from the top rudely pushed in with her basket full of British sausages which she had planned to take home and disrespectfully sacrifice to Yahweh as a blatant insult to pork-loving Brits everywhere, even those living harmlessly and respectfully on the Costa del Crime in France.
'Infidel dog,' the lady foreigner exclaimed to the startled cashier who was just innocently minding her respectful English business, 'I demand also a disposable lighter with which I will set fire to that worthless Union Flag you love so dear, those infidel stripes that so closely resemble the Y-fronts of the devil George Bush.'
'That will be fifty pence,' said the cashier respectfully and democratically, because she loved free speech and knew there was no shame in being proud of your country because it's definitely not racist or anything.
'Under glorious Sharia Law which the most excellent and revered George Galloway and his fellow conspirators will soon be introducing to this island that is shaped like a toilet and which is filled with similar contents, I would not have to pay such a price for this inferior British lighter. But luckily a payment of fifty million pounds has just come through following my application for status as an illegal asylum seeker, and so I will grudgingly stump up your required fifty pence.'
At that point the person who met an acquaintance of my close friend couldn't help but notice that the impolite alien woman had dropped a bit of paper. Being English, before she even knew what she was doing she had politely picked up the piece of paper so as to return it to this person against whom she bore no resentment whatsoever, despite the influx of her kind stealing British jobs and the English Isles now comprising a population of 98% illegal immigrants and a mere 3% of honest and respectful white people, and she noticed that it was a picture of Del Boy and Robbie Williams from The 1977 Morecambe & Wise Christmas Special beneath which were scribbled in blood red ink the words all infidel Eengleesh peegs must die, and the words English and pigs were actually spelled that way as though spoken by a foreigner.
At that point an elderly gentleman standing in the queue stepped forward and interrupted with a calm, respectful voice like that man on the Werther's Originals advert, saying unto the Muslim woman, 'excuse me, but millions of noble and respectful British Tommies, just like the young man this lady would have been had she undergone gender reassignment, have fought and sacrificed their lives so that people just like you can stand here on Britain, the land which gave the world Bob Marley and Cat Stevens so it isn't racist, and blatantly accuse an innocent fifty pence piece of sickening paedophilia when the very same Queen for whom I voted served respectfully in three world wars just so we may all enjoy and share the freedom to dress our fingers as innocently sexy youngsters, and yet you see fit to come in here with your vile accusations. It is my belief that if you were allowed to be so outspoken in France or wherever the hell it is you people come from, then our brave boys wouldn't be fighting there today. Gutless moral cowardice, I call it.'
My close friend was told by her acquaintance that the person she had met told her that the queue then cheered and respectfully applauded, which wasn't racist because Mrs. Baxter who was stood at the very back waiting to pay for a packet of custard creams once sat next to one in a doctor's waiting room, and anyway there's my own very close personal friend, Mr. Patel whom I met that one time when I went to that London. I recall asking him how much the fare would cost for Piccadilly Circus as though it were yesterday.
'One pound twenty,' he quipped without looking at me before dinging the bell thing and making the bus go, and anyway it's not even about race, it's about culture. Some of them just don't want to watch Strictly Come Dancing.
So anyway, this definitely really happened and any resemblance to a four year old boy telling you he's just seen a dinosaur or the sort of tripe spouted by imbeciles in the belief that a transparently fictitious account of an ethnic minoritarian getting up to the sort of dastardly moustache-twirling evil which readers of the usual newspapers genuinely seem to believe constitutes the national character of anyone with a bit of a tan, is purely coincidental.
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