Blocked Dwarf celebrates this day with his own bit of Jack Strawism:
Well to be fair to the PCists (although God only knows why) the flag of St.George has become the Reichskriegsflagge of the British right wing. People who fly it outside their house tending to be, at best, armchair xenophobes and at worse football fans. Which is amusing I suppose as the historical (assuming he wasn’t total mythical) St.George had of course absolutely no connection to this country.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the sign of the true-born Englishman today, LOL. It was followed by the standard follow up:
If a Patron Saint is required then I feel we should go for one of our ain; St Botwulf,for example, had arguably far more influence on this Septic Isle than some 4th century koine speaking Palestinian who couldn’t have found us on a map.
You might not like what he wrote but we’re in the business here of printing the truth and there’s a lot we need to look at closely in our patriotism. Not saying we should not be patriotic and not disagreeing about St George v some local lad [oh dear – or gal] and I disagree that we’re all bovver-booted skinheads [mine came naturally] but that’s not to say we should not look rationally at this thing.
Which reminds me of the Russian joke about the tank broken down in the desert. The American team goes out to assess it, then files a report and sends the request for parts to Pittsburg. Five weeks.
The English team goes out, concludes, “Bloody typical,” and goes off for tea and tiffin.
The Russian team goes out and realizes it needs help, so they call out half the squad, swarming over, under and inside the tank until one ventures, “Think I’ve found the problem.” He pulls out his chewing gum and cakes it over two wires he’s just rejoined, the chewing gum dries hard in the heat, he calls for Boris to start her up. After four or five splutters, with tweaks by others, it explodes into life. They head off for a well earned vodka or eighteen.
Not sure how true all that is. And this is the sign of the true-born Englishwoman:
England defeats Australia in the netball, by one point:
“Oh my goodness,” I can hear her say, “we actually won something, don’t tell me it’s not so. We actually won something?”
And we’ve just seen Team GB [not strictly English but no matter] bomb out of the Fed Cup for wimmin in tennis … to Japan!
I thought it interesting that the Captain of the team hails from Laos and the two players hail, respectively, from Sydney and New Guinea or Bougainville or somewhere down that way.
And with the men, our top player is a Scot.
And Chas made a gaffe like granddad two days ago by saying to some British spokeswoman in Manchester, “You’re from Manchester are you? You don’t look it.”
Spilt the coffee I did [no longer tea ‘n tiffin]. Shades of Somerset Maugham about being born under the skies of a considerably sunnier place than England.
Or the German soldier wondering [have forgotten the comedy show], “However did they win the war?”
A little St George’s Day cautionary tale.
I put up a StGD message on Twitter:
Happy St George’s Day to all the English – detested by Germany, the EU, the Celts, the Muslims, too few of this dwindling tribe acknowledge their Englishness – Jack Straw said he was “ashamed”. Into bed, you lot and outbreed ‘em.
Then I forgot the message while searching for a pic, finally settling on the kids with flags pic:
Tweet was duly tweeted but then I looked at the pic immediately under the “you lot” and suddenly realized.
So I followed up with:
Er, just qualifying that, I mean the adults get breeding to produce those in the pic, not that those in the pic … never mind …
Not my finest hour. Moral of the tale is – don’t wake up at 3 a.m. and start tweeting in bed.
[In comments, a request please – no ad hominem, stick to the issue itself.]