Curry house cowardice leaves us both stained

“Gulp….er…sorry, mate?” That punch-in-the-solar plexus effect that happens when the stranger with whom you thought you were having a friendly chat feels he has your trust, then without warning decides to let you into his strange world of ‘between you and me’ opinion – in this case I was hit with: “course y’know, they’re all farkin over ‘ere innay!”  – …er, sorry, mate?  – Dem lot. More over ‘ere than in farkin’ Affrika or India or w’revver it is they farkin come from. – (Jokingly [as you do]) Don’t think there’s a billion Indians over here mate. – (Deadly serious, and getting a little red-faced) Farkin ‘is! Comin’ over ‘ere, farkin millyuns an’ billyuns ov the bastards. No bluddy white faces anymore. We just letum in. Farkin red carpitt. Tell ya mate, more over ‘ere than over there, no jokin’ mate. Farkin disgrace. Farkin Blair. (Playing dummy) So what you’re saying is that you disagree with the immigration policy in this country. You think there should be more stringent controls on economic migrants and an overhaul of the asylum application process? – Dass right mate. Send ’em ‘ome mate. Farkin’ ell, no bluddy Crissmass anymore, s’all Divarrrley this and farkin Muslim that. Farkin no Inglish anymore, jus’ jibber-jabber. Send ’em farkin ‘ome, I say. Farkin scroungers, takin’ our jobs an’ benefits. Farkin disgrace that Blair.  – Listen mate, I….  – Fark me, issat the time. Got a leg of pork in the oven. Nice meetin’ ya…(Hands empty Cobra pint glass to barman.) Cheers, Raj, take it easy mate. (To me) Good bloke that, always look after yer in ‘ere. After my stunned confusion had subsided, my ‘smug, self-righteous lefty liberal elitist’ shame at not having shot him down in so much inglorious flame, as a stinger would a Zeppelin, burnt like a dodgyy vindaloo. Next time I promise to be drunk…


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