AS a man, and not only that, I welcome their lot, all whatever they're going to be - be they be white or be they be black or yellow or red; please, now, enough. But not only that - we must. I have heard, no doubt about you, that for a hefty people we in ourselves, as what we are, are so thin. Yeah, I know, you too - that's why. They say, all experts, like, "Oh, only by an, sort of, if we can be injected by the ethnics, at last we will stop the dying." So from, how you like, a monto-culture to a multied-culture - these are the future.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps not like that anyway. Perhaps the opposite of what that was, and frightening. According to this sodding report what's just come out from my brother-in-law's taylor, there happen now to be more Moslems living up the top end of his street than Christ. These, say our fab extremists on both ends - thanks - are the fuckers to blame. They've done the wrongs. They're our enemy. They are going to kill us about tomorrow say, so how can we do anything else, then, but kill every one of them first?

This is not a joke. It isn't even funny. This is the terrible, terrible reality. Now. Here. Under every footstep we make. But I ask myself - and I hope you do too - which of the above men and women's appreciation to the "immigration issue" on the liberal, or to the "terrible darkies" on the very ordinary extreme boredom when they talk and fear of their heads, not the shape, not the stubble - the smell. I hate that smell I do. Like sweat - is sweat: but cold. Far right, like. On a purposely bald head, cold and sweat, of course it must be fear. But is it true - are we the dark-lovers by whom we totally truss up the white race? Or must we wrap ourselves all the way around the foreigner, share his joys, spoil his dreams, eat his culture, smell his smells, meet what he calls his family - or else withered up?

To be honest, I don't have one clue. At all, now. Mind you, I'm not into it, like. It's not my field. All I keep remembering is that bloody old - you know it! - that song, all about how she - this woman, the singer - wants to see some blokey's melting pot, remember? In favour of all friendly world things, see. And in the end she do say - sing, sorry - that what comes out of her boyfriend's melting pot at night, once all the people of the world have had to be pressed in, very hard, is chocolate coloured people.

But that means we'd all be niggers, don't it?

Just a thought - don't take it too serious!