My first thoughts on hearing news of the (inevitable) retaliatory attacks by India on Pakistan were not on the many unfortunate victims (with many more to come) but on my hometown of Leicester. Although I have lived my entire adult life in Ireland, my childhood within an Irish immigrant family was spent in that middle-sized English city, an affably monochrome but tolerant little place with a rich history.  Since that innocent post-war epoch, Leicester has been suicidally transformed by mass immigration, mostly from Pakistan and India, and whenever tensions erupt over cricket or Kashmir, they are riotously re-enacted on the streets of that poor English city. More broadly, Leicester serves as a maquette for England, which now gives all the outward signs of an irreversible moribundity.  The simple lesson is this: mass immigration will, within three generations, spell a nation’s death.

Recent days have laid bare the stark realities of what has happened to Britain (though most of my observations really apply to England: Scotland has already gone over the edge and is hurtling to cultural perdition, and Wales will go wherever England’s far greater gravity leads it). The excruciating epitome of all that is dire about Britain was the manner in which it “celebrated” VE Day, a tawdry fly-past of about half a squadron over Buckingham Palace. Uganda would have done better. 

This was the “climax” to a three-hour programme on BBC television that must have been dreamt up in the moronville from which the national broadcaster recruits its producers. These idiots clearly know nothing of Britain’s history, even of the relatively recent episodes such as the Second World War, which of course the BBC refers to as “World War II”. This term was invented in the 1960s by Time magazine, and its subsequent and wholesale adoption by the BBC is emblematic of everything that is culturally imitative about that station, as if Britain was anchored just off Rhode Island.