DIARY OF A BREXITEER (cont)

Europe, 20 June 2016 Brexit. Markus Grolik/Cartoon Movement/Hollandse Hoogte

Spent much of today on the beach at Monifieth, beside the silvery Tay. Not because I’m one of these exhibitionists that go for a New Year dip in the freezing cold water. Definitely not, although I’d almost do it just tae aggravate my missus who says my immersion would cause a Tsunami in Broughty Ferry. An’ don’t think I’m a bird watcher. I’ve always been able tae recognise seabirds; if it’s no’ a gull it’s a gannet.

Anyway, I was using a telescope and binoculars and carried a stout stick. This was not in case of attack by angry crabs, but in readiness for boatloads of asylum SNEAKERS from Germany, or one of the Scandinavian countries. As everyone knows there’s been a kind of reverse Dunkirk going on in the English channel, in which tiny boats, instead of returning heroes to our soil, have been infiltrating weasel- faced terrorists from Iran and other failed Islamic states. Quite rightly, the home secretary, himself a man of colour converted to our cause, has commanded the entire British fleet, ie. an aircraft carrier with no planes and an armed dredger, into the channel to repel this invasion. If I lived near I would volunteer to assist, but as I don’t I gave some thought to what service I could offer the nation, OUR UNITED KINGDOM, in its hour of need.

It hit me like a bolt of lightning that the answer was close at hand. If you were one of these unspeakable refugee transport barons, where would you choose to sneak in your cargo of ratfaced rabid rapists, if not into the great welcoming firths of our main river systems, like the Clyde, the Forth, and the TAY?? Why had our security services missed this obvious danger? Perhaps already boatloads of savage women and children have found landing places and are already signing up for berry- picking in our local farms. Monifieth, homeground of the grey pound and wrinkly capital of the universe, might already be polluted with aliens!

As a patriot, I could not bear to let this happen, so having tried the police to no effect ( “been overdoing the G and T, have we, Sir?”) I took the law into my own hands, and patrolled the beach from 12 noon to 8pm beyond which time the missus had refused to provide supper. For most of the time there were no incidents, apart from a large dog urinating on my boots. They must have a funny smell, dearie, the owner said, and I thought, they will now.

It was probably about 7pm, when my eyes had adjusted tae darkness, that I noticed a movement away at the edge of the beach where it met the water. It was low tide and therefore some distance from me. At the same time the light of a vessel were noticeable in the firth. I remained still, watching. I became certain that a person of substantial size was creeping over the outer sands towards the beach itself. It was obvious that a boat had dropped its passenger at the land’s edge, and was leaving him to make his lawless way into our peaceful nation. So take that, you salad- eating, Guardian- reading, trans- gender- bending sceptics, I thought, here’s the proof that our country is under siege!

Noticing that there was a wooden groin, placed to protect the beach from the tides, just in line with the intruder’s progress, I concealed myself behind it, listening for the telltale noise of a body dragging itself surreptitiously over sand. When I was sure he was near, I jumped out and whacked him soundly over the shoulders with my trusty stick, shouting, I’m taking back control.

I don’t know if the seal was surprised to be assaulted in this way, but I was definitely surprised to be faced by a large rearing mammal, smelling like a fish-shop bin. It hissed and barked and bared its teeth, persuading me that I was better to retire with dignity, not to mention the best speed I could muster. Arriving home early I reflected that a patriot’s life is not without its sacrifices.

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