Friday, 22 March 2019

Looking after number one


Brexit is almost on us, or not on us.
It is 5 minutes to 12 for the end of the Brexit story or 5 minutes to 12 for the beginning of the next chapter in the Brexit saga.
In about a month’s time the UK could be in heaven or it could be in hell.
If you know what I mean.

No deal Brexit is on the cards.
Remainers say, no deal will precipitate the economic implosion of the UK. Food and medicine will be scarce and beer will have to be rationed.  There will be tanks on the streets to preserve law and order.
The UK will become the Venezuela of Europe.
This scenario does not affect me, because at the end of April I will also have Dutch nationality.

Brexiteers say, after a no deal the UK will become a haven of peace and prosperity while the rest of Europe will collapse without the British contribution.
This scenario does not affect me, because I can always move back to the UK.

Then there is the double-doomsday prophecy: the economic and social collapse of both the UK and the EU after a no deal.
This scenario does not affect me, because I can always move to Israel.

When the chips are down (or not down) one has to look after number one, and I have been doing that.


Tuesday, 19 March 2019

Bloody Foreigners

I went to hospital today for a check-up on my aches and pains.
The start of my journey was a short bus ride to the metro. The only other person waiting at the bus stop was an African Muslim woman who was engrossed with her mobile telephone.
A few minutes later a stocky, light brown, middle-aged male - a North African type - joined us.
He was obviously a migrant or an asylum-seeker.

When the bus came, the African Muslim woman was the first to board. The North African type smiled at me and signaled with his arm that I should get on next.
Now, you cannot pull the wool over my eyes. He was clearly trying to hide his evilness by being polite to strangers.
I put on my best Cheshire cat smile and gestured with my arm that he should get on first. 

He replied with another smile and another arm gesture, signalling that I should board the bus before him.
I thought to myself, two can play at this game, you evil man.
I gave him my Rudolph Valentino smile that I usually reserve for special occasions and entreated him to get on the bus with an expansive arm gesture. 

The bus driver was getting impatient. He glared at us. Eventually the North African type got on the bus first.
Bloody foreigners.