 Irredeemable Identity Irregularity Oh how I loathe the Scots It’s often been said that because of my striking ginger hair how I may by some chance be of Scottish origin. Huh, I would rather be the least required cell of David Beckham’s grey matter than be related to a ghastly braveheart in any shape or form. Speaking as a feminist myself I would of course prefer to be neither. Both Beckham and Braveheart are as we know ‘men’, one of them being Scottish which of course minimises my desire to emulate them by a third, mathematically speaking. It has also been said that my Queen - the ‘Queen of England’, is also of Scottish descent. Speaking as a feminist myself, and also an Englishman I find this unfounded suggestion quite repugnant. I would rather be the least required cell of David Beckham’s grey matter than for this ugly slur on my Queen to have even the slightest hint of truth – which it hasn’t. Scottish people are horribly uncouth and always whinging whereas my queen is a delightful figurehead with the most discerning manners, something which people today (except for most men and all Scots) should surely glean something from. Perhaps I have inherited my almost fluorescent red roots from Elizabeth the 1st – I know she was ginger because I saw the film, and also happened to notice how she had that other queen, the horrid Scottish one beheaded. Just like my Queen, her name was also 'Elizabeth', she was of course the Queen of 'England' therefore undisputedly 'English' AND also a woman! Speaking as a feminist myself I notice these things. So there; ginger, monarchist, feminist and most of all NOT Scottish! PC Lobby Shorten my Column Notice how ever since Norfolk farmer Tony Martin was released I’ve had far less to write about? This no doubt, a conspiracy of the politically correct forces, shall NOT restrict my ranting on behalf of our once great nation and its foul bugbears! I mean, do these PC people really think I have nothing else to complain about now that Tony Martin is free? Here we have an innocent man languishing in jail for the crime of simply protecting his property and – on no there they go again, thinking that’s all I have on my mind when it isn’t! Look at the article above for instance; does it mention anything about the Norfolk farmer Tony Martin languishing in jail for simply defending his property against jobless gypos who disregard law and order? No. I mean if using reasonable force against dangerous intruders is no longer within the law then what sort of law ~ anyway. My point is it’s a big world out there with so much to comment on. I could always discuss the noble achievements of feminism (speaking as a feminist myself) or my desire to rebuild Hadrian’s Wall as high as legally possible or even my contempt for rowdy youth of today who wear shiny football shirts – paid for by us the taxpayer – similar to the way we paid to have an innocent Norfolk farmer caged like an animal for a crime he should have been applauded - but that really is a different matter. Notice also how underclass oiks and burglars no longer trespass on the rural private properties of Middle England? This isn’t out of any fear of getting shot dead, like they jolly well should be, trespassing or not, but in the fear it will give writers like myself or Frederick Forsyth something to scribble hence sustaining our jobs here at the Daily Mail. It doesn’t take a reactionary genius to realise this is yet another attempt of the PC brigade to make common sense a thing of the past ~ confound them. Why oh why must boys be boys? Speaking as a feminist myself, and not just because I happen to adore my Queen - why was I blighted with sons instead of daughters? I mean girls are so much more fun, they are prettier and always tune into our feminine sides when we’re suffering gender identity crises. You can dress them up when taking them to see the Queen on the understanding that women can be great, if not greater leaders than men – unless it’s horrible Hilary Clinton (a possible president, not a queen) When they get older you can celebrate their A’ level results reminding them how they beat the boys yet again (true or not is immaterial) send them off to uni where they prepare for top jobs in the city showing those bull & bear louts just how it’s done. And to celebrate their automated success you can head off to All Bar One, crack open a bottle of bubbly and bitch on about how pathetic men really are, I mean who needs them? Ah, the sheer joy of daughters. Yet what do I have? A couple of rowdy yobbos who like nothing better than to kick a ball about dreaming of becoming Frank Lampard – whoever the hell he is. Speaking as a feminist myself and hoping my offspings will aspire to something beyond the least required cell of David Beckham’s grey matter, what are the chances I wonder of changing their gender? Even the much despised PC lobby would back me on that one. I could always snip their willies off but I bet that would be far easier to remove than those wretched shiny football shirts boys insist on wearing. Doh! No one really knows what he does now that the Norfolk farmer is old news but you might see him sometimes at South Kensington tube |