The Red and the Blue

The decision by the Government to scrap our EU-compliant passport design in favour of the traditional British blue is a slap in the face for those who decry our glorious national history. At last we can say goodbye to the jackbooted symbol of Euro-bureaucrat oppression and the hated red covers that had every true-blue Englishman spitting with rage each time they had to be produced. No more, my friends, no more. Henceforth at airports we shall bound like gazelles over the queues of swarthy, unshaven foreigners as they frantically hold aloft their red  badges of shame. We shall merely gesture to the slight bulge in our pockets. "British, old chap. That's all you need to know" and surely the gates will open, the officials will touch their peaked caps in deference and customs men politely usher us down the "No questions asked" aisle and out into the bright air of freedom.

But why stop there? Why do we have to produce a passport at all? It should be enough to say, loud and clear at the frontier "Look here my good man, I'm a subject of Queen Victoria Elizabeth". And any insolence will be rewarded by either a sound thrashing with a bullwhip or a letter to the Times. And why, when we leave these hallowed shores, should we Brits have to pay foreign taxes that only go straight into the pockets of some greasy, sweating overweight man in a smoke-filled cafe? Duty-free at at all times should be the watchword, nay, our birthright. We should have the right to demand the lowering of all foreign flags as we go by, and hats to be doffed in our presence. For we are a proud nation (©N Farage) and what is the point in being proud if you can't get proper respect from the lesser breeds?

I see a bright future dawning, my friends. I can also see an unmarked ambulance arriving outside and two men in white coats consulting clipboards. I wonder what they can possibly want with me?