Future past times in London with Queen Fabio

Kind of. But why does London-centric English society revel in the past? Any nation could be forgiven for wanting to relive past glories. We remember Bannockburn for example, though I'd say that for 99% of those wanting independence for Scotland, a glorious victory over invading oppressors in 1314 is not a blueprint for a future progressive Scotland. Neither do we want another crack at the Darien scheme.

Not so for much of English society. The past is being regurgitated quicker than Boris Johnson can cough up blond hairballs.

There's the minor matter of the England football manager's position. Fabio, the swarthy foreigner, has been sent packing back to Italy. Not only that but he should never really have come in the first place despite the English FA offering him £6m. Jawn Terwy may not be an out an out Nazi and more of village idiot but, either way he is not really 'role model' stuff. Surely though the manager of any team should be consulted on team selection? Has Vladamir Romanov bought the FA?

Therefore, the role models of the tabloid press are calling for steadfast woight Englishman to deliver what England expects. Now that Argentina are gurning once more about those Malvinas, they need someone who can sock it to the Argies in EURO 2012. Now there's a conundrum! If the Malvinas are 'British' and therefore European, why can't nearby Argentina join in EURO 2012?

Never mind, the new woightman in the English hot-seat could always feed the tabloid dogs by having a go at the Germans who England defeated in two world wars and one world cup. The Germans should be easy pickings as they've never won any major trophy and their economy is in tatters due to having adopted the Euro.

Speaking of Germans though, it's the diamond jubilee of Elizabeth Saxe-Coburg. Now, what could be more fitting in this glorious 60th year of her reign than to give her the England manager's job. On one hand, the tabloids would have their 'pure' Englishperson at the helm but on the other, it would also satisfy the lefties as the FA would now become a beacon for gender equality.

We no longer have a woman PM in Downing Street but David Cameron and his younger twin, Nick Clegg are champin at the bit to show that they can match the Iron Lady for warmongering in times of hardship. The economy is still fckd, their plans to wreck the NHS are coming unstuck and the Porridge Wogs in Scotchland are refusing to bend to London's will. After joining with the French to kick Gadaffi's ass, what better than Falklands Manager 2012?


After all, the population of the Malvinas are all woight and they love the Union Jack more than their brethern in Belfast so its our duty to defend... er their right to self-determination. Just hope the Jocks don't get wind of that. The idea that 'Britain' may have in the past ejected present islanders and replaced them with a bunch of sheep farmers from Scotland and Wales is irrelevant. In fact, recent research by English historian David Starkey shows that tectonic forces pushed the islands from their former position off the Devon coast to their current far-flung remoteness in the Southern Hemisphere.

All in all, there's never been a better time to break away though in the meantime I could live with the Sex Pistols or Laibach hitting number one this summer.

In the playground with the pygmies

Imagine a windswept and rugged landscape. One with mountains, islands and fjord-like incisions into the land where historically travel by boat was the only real mode of transport. A land that has suffered famine and clearance. Where the natives have been used as cannon fodder by another nation in her wars. Strict and tribalistic religion has shaped society. An ancient language is still spoken despite colonial efforts to beat it out of the natives. Many people still live off the fruits of land and sea - seaweed, shellfish and strange delicacies involving sheeps' stomachs.

Imagine that the year is 2010.

This land is now a plaything for English toffs. With the purchasing power of the colonial British Broadcasting Corporation behind them and a truck load of cameras, the shy and reticent natives are cajoled into 'cooperating' with these dashing toff adventurers. For, an adventure it is.

The white beaches. "I say, this could be Goa".

The mountains. "I remember when i was in Nepal..."

The wild Atlantic. "Back in the school dorms, we would play at being Captain Pugwash."

The natives. "Ever so friendly, they gave me two pigs, 3 turkeys and a traditional Hebridean llama for my new croft."

The language. "Isn't the Gay-lick so beautiful. It sounds like mangled Swahili spoken backward. Fortunately, my grandfatha's generation beat the natives soundly until they learned English. Its great for the economy you know."

The music. "It's called a Kay-lee. Tribal and rhythmic music that almost spirits one away from the raging storm outside and back to the mudflats, from where a primitive lifeform is emerging from the sea..."

And before long, the natives are filmed helping the dashing white adventurer erect wooden poles so that other travellers find that their steps fall easier in this rough terrain. Beads and trinkets are traded for oil and whisky revenue so there is satisfaction all round. And before long, the brave Field Marshal Montgomery Halls and Rear Admiral Benjamin Fogle retire to their native England to write their memoirs.