Union Flag, Innit

British Man Who Constantly Proclaims His Love For His Country, Constantly Proclaims His Hatred For His Country

Archetypal middle aged white male, Dave Daveson, once again announced that he loved his country so much he does not want to see it carry on being shit. In an exclusive interview for The Information Council (that may become a “thing.” Don’t know yet) we bring you: the voice of Britain. Dave had called us out of the blue a week ago to voice his general hypocrisy and misunderstood logic through a media outlet he felt would give him the airtime he deserved, so we gloriously obliged. The below is Dave’s voice, and we are the tin can with the string on it with another can connected.  You, the listener, have the latter connected to the sides of your heads, ready to aurally imbibe this overt idiocy. Do not drop it, as its all we have, and you won’t want to miss an exaggerated, tinny word

We arrived at a greasy spoon cafe near Bedford and ordered ourselves a pasty looking breakfast, the bacon with the rind not crisped and the beans colder than an arctic breeze. A cup of tea was lurched over by the surly indiscriminately sexed waiter person. Dave advised us he’d be here at 7.00am, because “that’s the time hard work should start!” At 6.59, his white van with a poppy the size of a dinner plate on his radiator grill, pulled up outside. He had parked on a single yellow line, leaving a note in it’s window stating some arbitrary shit like “Job At #25”. He confidently strode over to the table and without hesitation, and the obnoxiousness of a drunk walrus asked us if we’d ordered his breakfast. We hadn’t, of course, since we didn’t know what he wanted. After he’d ordered his at the till, and he’d had a 3 minute rambunctious and incoherent chat about stereotypes with the shrieking tiller, he sat down with a cuppa so milky, the glare dazzled my retinas.

The conversation opened up with us being advised his tardiness was due to “too many bloody people on the road” and that he’d had to get his son’s car’s oil changed, and move his wife’s beige Mini so he could get off his drive. Of course he wasn’t late, but to a hard working man like Dave, he liked to be early. “I love working, me. I mean that’s what we do isn’t it? I don’t see how anyone could be a fucking layabout and not work. I’ve worked since I was 15, me. Started off working for my dad then have done ever since. I mean this is what’s great about this country, isn’t it? Working. I mean hard work, like getting your hands dirty work. That’s proper work. The problem with this country is that people don’t bloody work or want to work. In my day, if you didn’t work, or use the word ‘work’ at least 15 times in a paragraph, you’d be sent down the workhouse! Kid’s don’t know how fucking easy they have it. All these benefit claimers, they need a kick up the arse, y’know what I mean?” I then mentioned to him that benefits themselves take many forms and are accounted for in many ways, and aren’t just cash in hand “gifts”. I added that the binary nature of his comment was far too simplistic, but nonetheless he carried on. “…And these foreigners. Muslims, Romans, and the rest all come over here claiming our benefits.  They take my money, as a taxpayer, and piss it away on plasma screen tellies and mansions.  Did you see that story in the paper about that Gypo that bought a horse and a massive house for her 300 kids? I mean that is my hard earned money! Fucking despicable. And to top it off, my son can’t get a fucking job because there aren’t any.  All these people are coming over here doing our work.  How are we supposed to compete? They all work for less, and drag it down for the rest of us!” I discuss with him the contradictory nature of his comments about claiming benefits and taking jobs, but he glazes over and laughs in my face. I also open up discussion about the fact that industry has been declining from the UK for a while, and that jobs are becoming more and more centralized around cities with education being more important than it ever has been. He looked back at me like I’d shit on his shoe.

I had clearly found a nerve with Dave.  Work. What did he want? What was his fucking problem? “I don’t mind the right ones coming over here to do jobs and pay taxes. But they bring their families over, don’t they? And use our health service.  A great British national institution that. They come over here and get themselves all sorts of reasons to make themselves healthy.  Its a fucking disgrace! That Tony Blair’s fault.” I try and bring him back on track, even though I can’t really remember the point in this interview. “Look. They come here and take my money, don’t they? Why don’t they just go back? We haven’t got enough room to keep them all. We haven’t got enough money to pay for them.  We should sort our lot out first!” I show him the many hell holes a lot of people come here from, and suggest that maybe relocating to a different country with a different language, culture, and way of living is probably quite daunting he advises “but they get everything handed to them on a fucking plate here don’t they? We get nothing, but when Mustafa from brown country gets over here, he gets money fucking thrown at him.”

After all this time listening to his broken and scattered words, his phone rang. He had to cut this interview short. He let us know he’d like to follow up but had to leave due to an appointment he had at the GPs ‘cos he’d got a sniffle “or some shit”.  He also said he had to arrange some workmen to go and sort out a couple of his properties, saying “a right couple of moneymakers these, you can make a killing on rent y’know! Jakob and Igor, a couple of good lads who do work for me, need to go sort out some drywall stuff. Got to keep everyone sweet. I know they’re Poles, like, but they are good ones. I know them. They do a good job. They’re the ones we should take.”

After picking the sign he had handwritten from his dashboard, and placing it on the passenger seat, Dave started his van up, tooted his horn at, and lifted his hand to wave bye as he drove off. He had suggested a follow up interview due to this one being truncated, and that seemed reasonable. Depending on how I reflect on this piece, will depend on whether I bother or not, as Dave really is a reprehensible stereotype/cunt.


About Phoenix Farthandle 8 Articles
I write shit about stuff. Hear me write.

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