Grey Areas
Saturday,
June 13th 2020
Fucking grand day out that was! Makes you proud to be
British when you see your mates standing in Trafalgar Square with a Union Jack
wrapped round their shoulders, a bottle of beer in one hand and Sieg-heiling
the shitting-themselves-all-day-long antifa snowflakes.
After Tommy Robinson’s shout out for London action, we
started mobilising on Facebook. I wanted to make a sign but couldn’t decide what
to put on it. I got the crayons out and made one said, ‘White Pride’ but the missus
said it sounded fucking gay so I went with ‘Mad in England.’ The wife said, did
I mean ‘made’ but I couldn’t squeeze in the ‘e’ so left it as it was (she’s a
bit of a Nazi when it comes to spelling).
The next morning, I met up with the lads at Milton
Keynes station and you could feel that energy from being in lockdown although I
don’t think any of us stayed in for much of it. I mean, who’s going to throw
bricks through the Paki newsagent’s window if we all stay in and take up
knitting. Not fucking likely!
Anyway, we got the ‘war plan’ sent to us on our
phones. I like a bit of tactics, strategy or whatever. I would have joined the
forces but the uniforms would have rubbed my eczema up the wrong way. So we
were gonna march to Trafalgar Square (said the plan), find some antifa and then
kick their heads in. Simple. There was some PCP joints going round (some of the
lads call it ‘Battle’) but I like to keep my head clear so I just downed a 12
pack of beer.
To be honest, I hate London – too many darkies and
immigrants and £9 for a pint when the pubs are open (cheeky cunts!). Still, it
is good for a day out to the football or marching and stuff. Looking at my MK
crew, I could tell they were in the mood for smacking the first brown face that
looked at us funny. Me, I could have punched a postbox, I was so up for it.
We started marching and singing, looking for the BLM lot
but someone said the big march had been called off. Scared shitless, no doubt.
Still, we were gonna enjoy ourselves, no matter what. There’s always someone
you can smack in the face in London.
Word starting going round that there were some antifa
near Trafalgar Square and you could feel the buzz bouncing off us. I thought of
all the old Londoners, white boys like me, who would have trod these streets
and got a bit emotional. Had to ask Terry to give me a kidney punch to sort me
head out. Changed my mind about the PCP and toked a whole joint. That shit is instant
– felt like I had armour on and about ten feet tall. If there’s only pigeons in
Trafalgar Square then they’re gonna get a right royal kicking. Dirty bastards
are always shitting on Nelson’s Column. Someone should do something about that
(note to self: tell Tommy!).
Our songs got louder as we entered Trafalgar Square. ‘This
is fucking England!’ I shouted and the pigeons scattered. White power! Then we
caught sight of the antifa lot and I felt that itch in the back of the throat
when you know it’s going down. They looked up for it, too, but then the rozzers
arrived and sealed them off. Sneaky bastards then locked down the square with
just us in it and let the antifa cockroaches scuttle off.
I tell you, I love the police, I really do. Nothing
like flooring a copper with a right hook (so Terry says). And they’re usually
up for it when they’re all that’s left. I don’t like the ones on horses. I don’t
like horses – heads are too big.
Anyway, it was us and them. War plan was out the window
but we weren’t going home without making our point. Couldn’t remember what our
point was because of the PCP but I knew it was something about defending England.
We slow-marched forward and then said some really nasty things, right in their
faces. I was shouting as loud as I could and they just stood there taking it -
pussies! I promised the missus I wouldn’t get arrested so I just did a bit of
shoving and I think I threw a bottle of water at one point but my memory is a
bit off.
Someone said we had to defend the statues which I didn’t
really understand. It’s not like you can hurt a statue, is it? Anyway, we
marched to Winston Churchill’s statue to see if we could do something there. I
was trying to remember who he was but I know he was a good ’un. (Gary keeps
giving me books about this and that, Nazis and stuff, but there aren’t a lot of
pictures and not really any jokes so I just give them back and say, ‘yeah,
really interesting stuff.’)
I felt like a bit of a spare part and wanted to let
the MK boys know I wasn’t just there for the ride so I had an idea. ‘Let’s go
to Chinatown and fuck some of them yellow cunts up!’ I shouted (I love
shouting; I’m really good at it!). Had a vague feeling that the Chinese had
started all this Black Lives Matter shit and got us stuck in lockdown at the
same time – sneaky fuckers! (I do like a Chinese though, now and again).
In the end, nobody took me up on my idea. Terry said
we could do Chinatown another day. I wondered whether to call him a ‘little
bitch’ in front of everyone else to see if that would finally be the thing that
would get me made into a lieutenant (they won’t tell me) but decided not to. I
never know if it’s going to get me a promotion or a kicking…
The EDL lot had all splintered into groups and a lot
of them went looking for something to eat. Me and the MK crew decided we would
jump the next person we saw who looked like a left-y liberal Remainer
my-best-friend’s-a-darkie type. Hardly anyone about to be honest but eventually
we found a student type wearing a cardigan and stomped him for refusing to give
a Nazi salute. Fucking asking for it, he was.
PCP was starting to wear off at this point and
realised I was only 5’ 6” with a pot belly and a bald spot the size of a poker
chip. Tiredness kicked in as well. That’s what being on high alert does to you.
I fell asleep on the train, missed Milton Keynes stop and woke up in Nuneaton
with dicks drawn all over me face in marker pen. They’re a right laugh, the MK
lads, I can tell you.
Latest data for the UK (as of 12pm):
Infected: 294,375
Deaths: 41,662
Celebrity deaths: It’s time to organise and get everyone annoying off
the telly to infect each other, starting with anyone off all of the posh twats who have ever appeared in 'Made in Chelsea.'
People I know who are infected: 0
Song of the Day: ‘London’s Calling’ – The Clash
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