To Luton, talking looting. I was on the Drive With Roberto Perrone show today, and got to say that I thought anyone who said multiculturalism had failed was talking hooey. This was helped by the presence of Akhbar, a Muslim guest, mid-Ramadan, talking movingly on ‘my country, my community’ words usually reserved for EDL spokespeople. The difference was, Akhbar is actually making the world a better place.
On the steps up to the station on the way home, I wove through half a dozen Asian men on their unsteady journey down. There is an aesthetic appeal to a plurality of drunks, how they move, rebound off each other and street furniture, like looking down on a snooker table during an earth tremor.
‘White motherfucker,’ slurred one of them, with a reassuringly expensive can of beer in an uncertain, oscillating hand. ‘White motherfucker,’ he continued as I passed, and then, as I left him and friends behind, ‘White motherfucker,’ one last time.
How nice to be recognised at last from my little contributions to Roberto’s show. Though I don’t think I’m brilliant, at least I’m clean and don’t make the same point over and over again (looking at you Ed Milliband). Though analysing the insult it is a bad one: skin colour isn’t an indicator of anything other than genes and sunshine, coupled with a factual inaccuracy. One thing I can’t change, and one thing I don’t have to. Never insult a pedant; it won’t have the impact intended.
Not being more than averagely racist myself, I resisted the urge to bat the cock back over this conversational net. Six of them one of me. A train pulling into the station. Cause a fuss? Nah. The taint of nobbery alas touches people of every creed colour and class, and this provincial twonk hadn’t escaped. I wanted to say, ‘You don’t know me. I’m your friend. I’m a tediously politically correct soft liberal. I make the LibDems look like the Khymer Rouge. I just had lunch in a Muslim restaurant with a Jewish friend, I AM multiculturalism in human form. I actually know a black disabled woman.’
(Actually just this mornIng I was bemoaning my Oliver Letwin hairstyle. ‘I’d rather have Hitler’s hair,’ I said to the mirror. Well now my subconscious fascist has had its comeuppance.)
I boarded the train and vented on Twitter. And reflected on how lucky I am to live in a country in which people of all races can come together and riot / make radio shows / love / laugh / behave like turgid, unimaginative pricks*. Stupidity is refreshingly equal opportunities.
* Apologies to any offended penises.