Things aren't the same as they used to be, which is really bad

One of the worst things about politically correct, touchy feely modern day New Labour Britain, is how wonderful things from yesteryear have been twisted now into shameful objects of burning reproach.

I remember with a melancholy fondness the days when you could call a spade a spade without fear of the PC brigade jumping down your throat, telling you not to use such words for fear of offending all the other garden tools (of course, when I say spade I mean paki), or those dizzy summer afternoons spent hunting down the queers and playfully bashing their little heads in with pebbles from the village pond. It was the only way to keep the gene pool healthy.

Those magical times existed before silly, bureaucratic words like 'hate crime' and 'bigotry' were even invented. Then, our bountiful motherland lay serene in the knowledge that she was protected by a fierce nationalism running through her people; suspicion of foreigners wasn't the shameful secret is has become today, but an integral part of being British, and the desire to protect the indigenous population from dark, un-Christian forces from across the Channel was encouraged. Patriotism, bolstered by fear and loathing of the shadowy beings from far flung lands, was proud and strong. Men were prepared to give their lives fighting back the malignant tide of exotic foreign forces lapping at our shores, while others colonised distant lands for the greater glory of the Empire.

Make no mistake, England has a long and illustrious history of which only the most cynical could not express reverence. Our subjects feared and admired us, and our people were proudly monochromatic. Everyone can agree that, throughout the ages, it is England that stands alone as the great benefactor, bringer of peace, and cleanser of nations.

Is it not extraordinary, then, to learn that some people claim not to swell with pride at the thought of stirring victories of battles past, tribes conquered, and dragons slain, but, perversely, to desire the promotion of a universal (not national) brotherhood? Since when did we win wars by befriending the savages? Who decreed that we should not just welcome the enemy at our gates, but invite him in and offer up our finest tea and biscuits while he defecates on our couch? 'Oh, don't get mad', they say, those liberals up there, above, on their balconies with the carvings, and the strings that they pull, 'Oh no, don't shout, it's just their way, it's what they do. Let them be', they'll say.

Today, unnecessary foreign wars are deemed unacceptable. Now, rather than brutally convert the Muslims to save them from themselves, we let them in to settle in our towns and cities, and we don't bat an eyelid as they take our jobs, and wives, and motor vehicles, and shoes. We are told not to view the Other with healthy suspicion or cross the street lest he eat our eyes, but to welcome him to the neighbourhood without so much as a brick through the window. Nationalism is abjected in favour of the black hell of multiculturalism, while the old patriots die in their urine sodden chairs in the nursing home, weeping as their grand-daughters marry young Indian boys from China. 'Katherine', old Tom whispers under his tattered blanket, 'Young girl, why? why do you renounce your land, and your mother, your people, home, why, did she really hurt you so much? how did it happen? when did it start, and how will it end?', they scream in silence, and sit, and stare, as robins die in the snow outside the window.

These are strange new times, indeed. For two thousand years everything has remained the same, magnificent and strong like a great stallion bursting with its own virility, but now things are changing. The noble steed has withered, his testes shrunken by decades of progressive thinking from a narrow, arrogant elite. New people and novel ideas spring up all around; things change, and I am scared.

Children are no longer beaten or scolded for speaking before the age of 5. Now they are little people, with feelings and thoughts and words all of their own scurrying about, hiding in corners with their liberal ideals and Marxist values. Schools preach tolerance, and foreign languages, but dismiss national pride. Women can vote. Wars are discouraged. Sodomisers are welcomed with open arms and an imported French kiss. The guns rust, the cannons were silenced long ago. Names change, 'Adam' and 'Jack' are pushed aside by 'Mohamed', and 'Salazar'. Science has replaced God, and history is dead.

Everything has been turned upside down. With a ruptured heart and poisoned blood, this is the way England ends.