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Earthquake? What earthquake? A minority of the population of southern England is mildly or seriously racist, suspicious of foreigners or modern ideas, and hankers after an idea of England that never really existed. This is no surprise.

For nearly 20 years of shaming misery, this country was held to ransom by these people under Margaret Thatcher and John Major and his little old ladies bicycling their way to evensong.

The only difference revealed by the European elections is that half of these people have now left the Conservative Party and moved to UKIP.

How dare the London-centric media and the politicians patronise us all? They insist we voted because we have no time for conventional politics, but actually the key point is that more than two-thirds of people didn’t vote at all. Turnout actually went down, to 33.8%. But I voted. I voted because I do have time for conventional politics. Conventional politics is how you make everybody’s lives better. It’s not sticking your filthy snouts in the trough and then urging the slack-jawed knuckle-dragging non-voting masses watching you to attack the weak, the hungry, the dispossessed and the foreign and bully them away so you can keep your trough to yourself. Neither does conventional politics have to be solely about London, Westminster or the parties the media insists are mainstream – who decided, for example, that conventional politics has to ignore the Green Party and their millions of supporters?

The 65% who didn’t vote are a far more important constituency than the tiny minority of electors who, their tongues protruding from the corners of their lips and pencils firmly gripped in both shaking hands, placed an all-too-appropriate ‘X’ by the UKIP box. Yet that tiny minority is being allowed to drive our debate. That tiny minority makes it looks as if the country I live in is part of a sinister swing to the right seen all over Europe because centuries of teaching the blindingly obvious truth that bullying the weak doesn’t make you feel any better and doesn’t solve any problems has failed to penetrate the thick, tattooed skulls of racists, bigots and neo-Nazis who now look to England as part of their march.

Clearly, it’s mountainously important that somebody finds a way to explain to more than two-thirds of our population that they really can’t grumble about how “they’re all the same” and “none of them do any good” unless they put the Sky Plus remote down for a moment, get off their fat arses, and fucking well do something about it instead of whining and breaking wind on the graves of good people who laid down their lives so that lazy dullards could have the freedom to influence their futures and the futures of their children, them, there, the obese greasy children jabbing their evolving super-digits into their keyboards and swiping their hands over their shiny tablet screens like they’re wiping the machine’s diarrhoetic bottom.

How bloody sickening that the political establishment is ‘terrified’ by the rise of UKIP (the phrase would be more accurately rendered as ‘the transfer of an existing small block of voters to a new banner’) but gives not a tiny monkey’s toss about the 65% who can’t even be tempted out of their lethargy by a dose of good old English bigotry.

How are we going to educate our children to take part in the life around them? By doing as that hate-filled twat Michael Gove has done and removing an essential piece of writing like To Kill a Mockingbird from the school syllabus? To Kill a Mockingbird gives thrilling voice to the principle that you should not just sit idly by, but the Goves want people to sit idly by because that way they can get away with convincing them that a few thousand votes for a comedy caricature like Farage are important. That is the way the Tories stay in power – because people genuinely do not know any better. They do not know any better.

How do we get people to understand that the world does not revolve around their DFS sofa? How do we get the message through to the cretins of Basildon that “England should be for the English, innit?” as a reason for voting UKIP is intellectually bereft? How do we manage to remind people that their grandparents’ generation were not permitted the luxury of taking no part at all in the nation’s life?

No, they actually had to fucking well do something or there wouldn’t be a nation for Nando’s and Rupert Murdoch and Simon fucking Cowell to colonise, drip-feeding the hard-of-thinking their sedatives of The X Factor and iPhones and Wayne fucking Rooney and Nigel Farage and Katie Price’s grotesque tits and Gary Barlow and the utterly totally and completely pointless army of sneering Kate Mosses and car loans and flatscreen TVs as wide as the Grand Canyon and twice as empty and The Voice and Kylie Minogue’s arse and Tom Jones’s sinister copper face and the fucking Daily Mail’s pictures of the lovely Kate Middleton’s lovely frocks, all of it, the whole stinking edifice, a warm cosy enveloping fluffy overwhelming comfort-blanket tasteless taste-free thought-free substitute for any idea that the world needs participation to make it a decent place. The world needs you to do something, you lazy bastards waiting for your food-slop to be brought to you to shove into your drooling maw as you slump in front of the exciting Gary Lineker World Cup in Brazil, built on a foundation of the bodies of the abused Brazilian workers who laboured to build the stadiums and a thousand discarded lager cans per seat all taking place under the envious hungry stare of the millions of children of the favelas.

Christ. Christ.

Bottoms up

Just visited the website of the German tabloid Das Bild – www.bild.de – for an anti-censorship peek at the lovely naked bottom of the lovely Kate Middleton whose lovely frock blew up in the not-so-lovely wind on her lovely royal tour of Australia. Actually, it’s a bottom pretty much like lots of other bottoms I’ve seen, very pleasant, but a bottom nonetheless. What was much more interesting was that in semi-sane Germany, the story was only number five in the top-viewed stories of the day list.