Sunday, December 03, 2006
I am often asked by people in NZ, why we left everything we knew and moved from the UK to New Zealand.
My response is always the same. 'Quality of life'. Which for me is fishing, diving, boating & sunny weather. The interminable grey days we endured in the UK all but had me open a vein. At least in Auckland, grey days are rare even in winter. But the real truth is I was sick and tired of the 'scum' I encountered on the streets. Britain might be one of the most tolerant countries in the world, but it also boasts a seething underclass. Made up primarily of disaffected youths, who'd think nothing of beating you senseless for daring to look at them. I was reminded of this when we visited family and friends this July.
The following incident occured on our very first day back in the UK.
Barb and I paid a visit to our dear friends in Bramhall, a leafy some would say 'posh' suburb on the outskirts of Manchester. As Phil was at work, we invited Debbie to join us for a lunch time drink in a local country pub.
It was a glorious summers day and I left Barb and Deb in the beer garden, while I got the drinks. As I moved from the bar carrying two Gin & tonics and a glass of lager, my path was blocked by 3 men. The youngest about 22, the others in their 30's. All were seriously obese and suffered from a rash of tattoo's. I walked towards them smiling and the young guy sucked in his belly in order to make room for me to pass. Sadly his effort was insufficient as his friend remained slouched over the bar supping his cider, oblivious to my arrival. The young guy indicated I could get through the narrow gap he had created. Wittily, I pointed out that if I were to attempt to squeeze past them, I would be in danger of 'back-ending his mates rear, and that would be wrong as I hardly knew him. At this suggestion, his mate turned to me and gave me his finest Vulcan death stare. He eventually moved, I thanked him and minced past. All the while he stared menacingly at me. Muttering 'unbelievable' under my breath, I sat at our table and told the girls what had happened. Deb wasn't in the least surprised.
Just then the 3 stooges decided they would flaunt their flaccid bodies in the sunshine. They sat with a big boned woman, who rocked a miserable baby in a buggy. Fat arse handed his beloved a pint of cider and settled his enormous bulk next to her. I shuddered as an unwelcome image of them copulating, flashed into my brain. The baby, who was probably desperate for attention, threw its dummy onto the floor. Jabba the Hut, picked it up, sucked it clean and went to hand it to the child, then thinking better of it, he dipped it into his cider before shoving it into the poor wretch's mouth. I wanted to dash to the airport and escape back to NZ there and then.
In a recent survey 54% of British people said they wanted to emigrate, makes me wonder what's wrong with the other 46%?