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Wogs begin at Calais, said Wally.

May 9, 2017

I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned it before, but I have inherited my grumpiness from a grandfather who, were he still alive, would have poured scorn on the (lack of) extent of my multitudinous aversions.

And why the sudden meander down memory lane? It’s been re-sparked by the continuing saga of the chaotic political situation in Europe, caused, in part, by Britain’s Brexit bombshell, whose aftershocks are once again bringing the continent’s divisiveness to the fore.

Wally the Major’s blood-pressure would be at boiling point at the situation. But he would have been first in line a few months back  at the polling booths to vote Britain’s departure.

Wogs, he declared, began at Calais. Then there were the Huns. Spics. Dagos. Eyeties. Micks. etc etc.

Wally’s prejudices were catholic, and my impending marriage to a half-Irish daughter of a Popish lass had a hurricane warning looming large. But if he was incredibly intolerant, Wally was also startingly inconsistent, and the joviality was a joy to behold when he shared some risqué repartee with his wedding breakfast neighbour…the officiating priest!

All of which is, of course, totally irrelevant to the forthcoming schism.

Except, except…that Wally would be dancing with a glee on the Common Market’s grave. But a little saddened with hisgrandson contemplating an application to become a (southern) Irishman.






was.. of a marer

One Comment leave one →
  1. YoungerSlightlyGrumpy permalink
    May 9, 2017 8:53 am

    Is that a bit like those so cool celebrities who were on their way to Canada in the event of a Trump victory? How many actually ended up going I wonder?


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