pumpkinstrokemarrow

So they hoofed it the 500 odd miles to the coast of Morocco from where they swam out to Lanzerote. The walk was quite a feat, the swim even more so. Only possible because Mr Ohgloomah had had the foresight to take along a couple of barrels of palm wine which served the triple ends of warmth, sustenance and flotation. Once landed in Lanzerote, the Spanish rule is that you cannot be sent back to your point of origin. You do not have much status or standing but you can stay. Most such people are sent to mainland Spain where they can get lost in the free movement of labour around the EU. And this is what happened to the Ohgloomahs.

Eventually they wound up in Wimbledon without any money and without any intention of working since there were very few palm trees. They were going to spunge. So they went to the council who gave them a nice flat in a block which had been built on what had been Wimbledon Football Club. Along with many of their fellow continental men and women. Other helpful people gave them various benefits and the Ohgloomahs prospered. They had many children, for all of whom they were able to claim child benefit. They were even able to claim attendance allowance for their poorly attested old relatives back in darkest Africa. While, out on the streets of Wimbledon, decent white folks were unable to get decent housing, despite having paid all their taxes and done all the right things for ever so many years.

It is too soon to say whether the Ohgloomahs lived happily ever afterwards but what I do know is that this story, and stories like it, are truly believed in TB. There are some people who believe with much vehemence and are ready with all kinds of more or less crude remedies.

Now, I do not believe such stories; or at least, I do not believe the lessons that are drawn from them.

As it happens, I am one of those people who would most probably walk the other way if I saw a gang of youths smashing up a park bench. A bit feeble, but then I am a bit feeble in such matters. No aptitude or talent for the necessary fisticuffs. Or enough brass to look as if I had. But the story of the Ohgloomahs is something that I ought to be able to engage in. I can do stories and there is very little danger of getting bashed. The worse that might happen is that I lose out on the odd pint of Newky Brown.

My usual point of departure is that yes, there is abuse, by all sorts of people, but that is not really the point. Abuse of this sort is at the margin. Much more to the point is giving child benefit to lots of people who can well afford to do without and disability benefit to people who should get off their bottoms and do a bit of work for once. Knocking off legal aid for bad causes. Knocking off the tridents. And building a lot more houses. Joke about the possibility of using superfluous aircraft carriers for estuary housing. Maybe one could beach them on the Isle of Sheppey or maybe even the more convenient Isle of Dogs. The next point is that the Ohgloomahs and their kind are generally hard working, tax paying people who are willing to do all kinds of not particularly nice jobs which we do not want to do ourselves. At least, not at the wages offered. One can sow a bit of confusion by pointing out that if we had not smashed up Iraq, there would not be so many Iraqis trying to rebuild their lives over here. Or by explaining how long the BH and I lived in a bed-sit before moving to a small flat containing a shared bath in one of the kitchen cupboards. We had to vacate on Tuesdays and Fridays to let the other lodgers have their baths. People were content not to have smart new flats in those days. At least for a while.

I can usually get a hearing, but I do not usually make much headway. Going to have to work on my lines.