401B Concrete Shacks
LONDON E17 4VZ
May 4 1997
What ho! Auntie
I hope the dust has settled somewhat over at Harriet’s now?
Things on the domestic front here at Concrete Shacks continue to be a little fraught. Jayne’s cat is now exiting the house – for long jaunts of exploration round the neighbourhood – and after dusk, every evening, I can hear her bawling, “My Cat . . . My Cat . . . ” up and down the alley beneath my bedroom window. Personally, I think he may be trying to find more fragrant toilet facilities than the ones on offer here, because about a week’s worth of shit piles up in the tray before she gets around to emptying it! She has also, sadly, produced a boyfriend who frequently turns up in order to avail himself of my hot water. I hear him bounding along the passage from her room into the bathroom, and then he appears to jump into a full bath, shouting, “Bath time for Brucey!” And, frankly Auntie, I’m not sure that they are ‘doing it’ much because I keep finding the bathroom bin brimming over with sticky-looking tissues!
I did eventually go to a local meeting of the British All-White Party, which was held in a rather seedy-looking room in the Feathered Hen. It was attended by a small, but fervently nationalist, group of individuals who were very aggrieved that non-whites (and, increasingly, Europeans) were ‘taking over’ ‘our jobs,’ ‘our schools,’ and ‘our housing.’ One could almost imagine the UK as an island whose coastline was bristling with a six-deep row of spears. The main plan expounded was to ‘send them back’ (at least no mention of ethnic cleansing or genocide) and it does seem that members of the British All-White Party feel safest – and most protected – living amongst all-English white faces. Of course, it was Napoleon Bonaparte who tried to unite Europe by dint of main force and, nowadays, things are more civilized – it being realized that a united global community is likely to be a more pacific one (albeit at the price, perhaps, of having an individual national identity diluted somewhat).
The main highlight of the evening is that I did see a rather tasty-looking young lady waiting outside the pub on my way out. However, it transpired (as I heard her greeting him) that she was waiting for her Dad, who is a member of the British All-White Party! And, as alluring as her charms may be, I don’t think I could suffer any loyalty which she may have to her father’s ‘get ’em out of here’ views!
Your nephew Ralph