Just another stream of consciousness:
Excuse my ignorance but that image we have of the cotton plantations and all those films – my thoughts are Louisiana I suppose but I don’t know why I thought that. New Orleans.
Now I really am either ignorant or forgetful about such matters. Where was that hurricane Katrina? Because wherever it was – they have a huge black problem there according to our news but then again, we can’t trust the MSM for anything. And if there are Mexicans in that part of the world, then they must travel over.
When I was in Sicily, you’d see the illegals working in cafes and so on but not a lot where we were. I think the reason is that the town was mafia run and they didn’t like them. This is the real mafia you see in films – this was exactly where they were, well actually a little further west – Agricento, Palermo.
Where I live, we are in a small time warp. I’ve seen maybe four, five blacks in my time in this part of Britain, about the same with Muslims. Maybe this is such a local gangland they would not last. They were going to open a “refugee” centre for jihadis in the customs house up the road but something must have happened – they’re not there.
I think it could be that we are a poor area, although I’m in the affluent pocket, jammed right next door to industrialisation outside the town on a hill. The foreigners don’t seem to like it here, no rich pickings, dangerous for them in this area – it is very, very white in the old way. I walk down the road among my people.
We’ve seen blacks in this land through the history books but always as curiosity value. And as I say, we’re in this time warp here. I hear of the trouble down south in the big cities – Birmingham is completely overrun now, Leicester. The city where my father worked as a young man, Bradford, well let me tell you a tale.
I was staying at Rossa’s place, minding the fort and they live in the moneyed part on the hill. Go down the hill – and there really are the most beautiful, rolling green hills in the misty distance, picture postcards have nothing on them – and halfway down, there is a canal and towpath going sideways along the contour of the hill. I was on my bike and went towards Bradford. When I got to a town about halfway, called Shipley, I stopped and asked a canal man how things were these days in the area. Just that, no knowing looks, no ‘ow’s yer father.
Now I know there was a big housing issue going on in those parts at that time. Council wanted to build cheap housing and the locals in associations were opposing it. So I’m thinking here that things were York on York, old established versus leftists. That’s going through my mind.
He said, unsolicited, and I quote, “It’s not too bad here yet but it gets worse the closer you get to Bradford.” And he made no pretence of mincing his words. “Bradford’s overrun with ‘em.”
Now I’m thinking in my mind of Muslims of course, because of social media, but there were none of those about so far on this journey, no jihadis anywhere, only tourists, plus a sprinkling of another kind – blacks – and I’m not used to that in the past few decades [but was earlier in London].
There were none in the Russian town where I lived, there were none in Oz as we lived in a sleepy, moneyed hollow by the Bay, boat club etc. None in the part of Paris I was – 12eme arrondissement, which was for office workers, a dormitory suburb too for the indigenous French, not particularly beautiful but I like being in those sorts of places, in among the locals – the word ghetto with me doesn’t register.
So I’ve escaped this black issue so far.
I returned along the canal path and when I got to the road up the hill again, there was a cafe and I went in. Same thing again – just locals. It must have been after school because suddenly a gang of black boys came in and you’ve noticed I’ve used the words gang, overrun and so on, highlighting the possibly offensive words in another colour.
But I’m still thinking Muslim. These black boys may or may not have been Muslim, I don’t know, but anyway, they were black, and they were a gang, not just a group of friends, plus they were loud and obnoxious.
Big deal, I still thought. In my own schooldays, we were all pretty obnoxious ourselves … plus we were in gangs.
Nope, this one this day, in that cafe – it was like what you see of footage of in Paris with the Muslim gangs. Only these weren’t Muslim, these were black.
And they were bad, really dangerous loons, it was as if they were deliberately hyped up, provocative and knew no manners. Now, when I think of black, I think of Driving Miss Daisy, Thomas Sowell and so on, fine people. I know the other exists though but always that comes through the media.
The owner and two or three burly men shooed them out. One kid stayed and bought some cakes.
That was a shock to me because when I was at a London school many moons ago, we had many black kids and they were generally all right. I once went to Lewisham with one senior I knew and we were fine, talking about this or that. You should have seen the looks we got.
The last time I’d seen that look was near Alice Springs in the outback when I stopped to pick up an aboriginal kid on his own and he was on his own, no family or gang hiding in ditches or behind bushes, there were none, he asked to be dropped at the local petrol or gas station.
When I pulled in, the owner rushed out and asked if I was Ok.
“Fine thanks.” But he was uneasy. The aboriginal kid jumped out and scarpered [ran off, for non-Brits]. To this day I’m not sure what that was all about but I could guess. Another world to me.
But back to these in this cafe – these were like the Brixton riots we knew of, Toxteth. Yikes, that’s only 30 miles away, that last one. Sure I’d seen blacks in numbers in London, around New Cross for example. Actually no, I lived in a place when I first got to London in the north – Mill Hill, in an upmarket part – but upstairs lived two black women. The bathroom was disgusting, the bowl, everything. I bought a plastic plant tray from the local garden centre for the bath, never had a bath, used a shower spray thingy, used gloves and always wore flipflops up and down the stairs and in the bath. I got out of that place soon after.
Now I’m not drawing conclusions in general here, just describing things as I found them. I was shocked by these boys at this cafe, they were nasty, totally uncontrolled toerags. However, many local white poor where I live are also like that and why is it that they have to shout to each other in the street, why can’t they just talk?
So, I don’t know what to conclude about blacks – they don’t occupy much of my blog space – it’s usually pollies, modern wimmin, pointy hatted churchers or Muslims, boats, planes, dry humour. Can’t get a line on blacks because I have so few tales to tell. I see the obnoxious Whoopi Goldberg and mayor of Ferguson and all that over there but that’s another country. Maxine Nutcase Waters.
Would I like to see a black bonking my woman? No, of course not – nauseating – but I wouldn’t like to see anyone else doing that either. Can I shake their hands? Have done many times. Would I want one marrying my daughter?
Ah, now we’re getting down to it, I think we’ve found the hard place. Hmmmm, not so sure. Were it a Thomas Sowell, why not? But it wouldn’t be, would it? It would be one of these foul-mouthed rapper types, were she as rebellious as I am.
But against that, I’d be pretty stringent in my checklist on any potential young man. Have to admit half and half on that last question.
What about living next door? Again, completely down to how they live – if they were civilised, housetrained, maybe it would be all right. I think, you know, it’s more a matter of what they’re like as people and what numbers they are in.
Test – if a whole lot of Swedish or Polish maidens moved in next door, would I accept that? Yes, if they were but three, if their manners were good, if they weren’t constantly bringing local boys in, were there no loud noise at night etc., no excessive drug parties.
Bottom line, to me, is how they behave, whoever they are, and in what numbers, as I’ve said.
Numbers. Yes, that really is the issue, is it not? I’m not saying I’m not racist, but nor am I particularly racist, I like our culture, the one I was brought up in – why not? Why shouldn’t I? If one or two come in and want to join that, assimilate, then I want to be invited over and try their cuisine.
But Luton and Paris? Bradford or Birmingham? No thanks. And taking it further, if they started being arrogant, dismissive of the indigenous, then no way – I’d join in any sort of protest to get them out. How dare they!!!
I’m thinking of my favourite AFL footballer [now retired] – David Wojcinski [N40, I was like that on the rugby field, very quick] – any issues with him? Loved his play and nice guy too. Not in the least. I talk to Poles I meet too, any eastern European of a reasonable type, not the rubbish of course of any ethnicity, even our own.
Am I racist? Well, in terms of the way the left spits it out, not in the least. But in real terms, between us?
I think I prefer my own culture or something which approximates it. See, Russia was so different to here in so many ways but there was still something “us” about them. Harder people, uncompromising, many faults as we have but warm people apart from that. My gf in my arms – just seemed normal to me [sorry, sorry – gorgeous, total princess – phew], didn’t seem alien in the least [wonder what she thought]. Eastern European woman [good ones, not scammers]? Fine, yes, not a problem.
Toots and the Maytals? Ah, well that’s a maybe – depends entirely how they live, their precepts, their idea of right and wrong … their culture. Couldn’t say offhand. Love the music, that’s not the issue.
Again, I keep coming back to this major question though – the numbers.