A rebel without a clue.

Let me tell you about my father? The guy was a shouter: voice raised so he could fixate on the TV at all times, smoking Golden Virginia all the day long, stirring several sugars into Carnation condensed milk sweetened tea all day long, laughing at innuendo after innuendo all day long, listening to Rod Stewart at his Baby Jane blandest and forgetting to wear underwear constantly so he could sit "au naturale" willy out like some gigolo, telling lies about the possessions he pilfered to make him seem like he had real substance, playing on the one eyed trouser snake like he was waving a wand against my very being and his index finger shoved so far up his nostril he was definitely scratching the very demon inside who had ate him all up. Oh dad the only thing left of yours, which no one recalls you owning, is the Aussie Bushman's hat which hangs so greasy pegged above the bar in the place where you drank and smoked and swore and never once saw your son as anything but a challe...

You want me to go north east to head south west, all for a bloody church! These Amis St Jacques are mad. Take me away from the busy roads, but please go directly to Le Puy not some convoluted bollocks just because there is a Saint, someone or other, named church. It's not an incline I fear, but a vacant building standing desolate, and without any substance at all, just for a pathetic "tampon" in a piece of paper know locally as a Credencial! Today I fart in your general direction you French whoopsies who think by having zillions of saints and churches named after saints takes you a step closer to heaven. Don't you know transubstantiation is literally cannibalism.  Go away and eat your wafer thin wafer you sons of a stupid git!

How many English or surrogate English would pledge allegiance. In 1988 I could not pledge my self to Australia no matter how wonderful it was/is. There is too much English, British, European in me to forfeit that existence. There are many reflections of being human but all are illusions. Nothing outside myself is true in any way. Do I subconsciously seek recognition in my vain scribbling? For years I went to get acceptance from the ways beyond me only to see that no goal can ever be reached outside myself. There is always one more hurdle, one more possession, one more agenda. Losing this pointless, frivolous action is perhaps the only way for me not to cease my life through unnatural causes. In truth I do find writing gives me a way out of the prison my mind has been placed in. All my life I've tried to feel real while being attacked by the grotesquely deafening, tongueless corpse of the blindly insane. Enough is enough. There is a better way. It's simply to be myself and let n...

If it is immigration which is at the heart of the question for the English surely that is the problem which needs addressing, and not membership of the EU? How have mass swathes of Middle Eastern and North African got anything to do with being in the EU. It seems to me the UK suffers from guilt for the Empire and how it categorised most of the pink on the map as "savages" unable to run their own affairs, like a meddling auntie we see ourselves as perfect, flawless, doing everything absolutely positively, but unselfconsciously showing our horrendous bloomers whenever we sit or bend over. My simple answer is to turn the concept of Bigotry on its head: are not foreign nationals who have failed to integrate not bigots - they simply wish to have their cake and eat it too. If the NHS, social services, Benefits are at full stretch the root problem is this sense of guilt which leads to a disproportionate sense of responsibility. We are not responsible for a badly, arrogantly run, Emp...