Working in the Croydon area can be a very thought provoking place; and being an avid ‘people watcher’ I am grateful to have such a rich pool of specimens to choose from on my doorstep.  Over the years, people of Croydonia have often been the inspiration for songs and lyrics that I’ve penned with El Baldo; I’ve often considered my personal approach to writing the complete antithesis of Paul McCartney’s ‘rose tinted glasses’ approach for the inspiration of classics like ‘Penny Lane’.    Obviously I don’t consider myself to have the songwriting genius of Sir Paul, but you get the idea?

Croydonites that I seem to have a fixation on generally consist of (but are not limited to) snooty jodpur-wearing business types that are devoid of manners and politeness (and mistakenly think they work in the West End of London), angry-faced ‘Muvvas’ that take no prisoners in Primark with their prams of steel and fury Eskimo boots (sorry, Inuits for all your PC types out there), the very polite junkie who ALWAYS asks if I have EXACTLY seventy three pence in change to get a train to Manchester (but is always in Croydon week after week) and any number of folk that sit on the trams and boast about how they know how to manipulate the benefits system.

Thank goodness for the occasional foxy lady (well-endowed mammary glands in tow) that wrench my attention away from focusing on any of the above for too long; thus avoiding utter depression!  After all, every cloud has it’s silver lining after all though surely?

Upon my return from lunch, I have to walk back up through George Street on the way to the office; and here you’ll find migrants of various nationalities, temporarily working in the coffee shops of George Street, East Croydon (right outside where I work).  And bloody hell do they work hard!!  Said visitors to the UK are also very friendly, and only too happy to participate in a bit of chit chat with us natives.  Go on, give it a go, you know you want to.

I can’t help but be inspired by these people.  Those who venture off to a totally foreign place and not only learn a basic grasp of the English language incredibly quickly, but also build a greater vocabulary than most biggots who can be heard mouthing off about “fucking immigrants!” in the Porter and Sorter pub.  A delicious irony?  You bet.

Alas the irony doesn’t stop there.  A self proclaimed “stand up average English hardworking guy” today asked me which side of the fence I sat on with regards to the Gaza conflict?!?!?  WHAT?!?!

I was so genuinely disturbed by the very suggestion that someone could consider taking a side in this whole affair that I instantly retreated into the dark reccess within my mind that is occupied (not by the Israelies!) by the cynical Antikrish inner monologue, the one which takes the royal piss out of people like this particular git; all whilst I keep an incredibly straight face.

As this *insert clever putdown here* began trying to justify how “Israel had a right to defend itself” I couldn’t help but consider how one even begins to pick a side in something which effectively amounts to mass murder?  Here’s what I came up with:

1)  Have a look in ‘The Daily Mail’ newspaper and choose your side after reading the article detailing which nation has the superior military capability.  Thankfully this task is made much easier using the ‘Mail on Sunday edition’, thanks to the commemorative A2 sized pull-out ‘Down with Islamic terrorism!’ guide.

2)  Watch the ITV news special and count how many times the sensationalist presenter says “dead women and children” with a raised eyebrow, and also the word “Hamas” with what sounds like a very bad Turkish accent.  Make sure you pay attention to all the fancy graphics and take time to consider which would look more dramatic?  An Israeli soldier using advanced weaponary from the United States to obliterate a Palestinian shoe shiner brandishing a very threatening looking brush, or (DEEP GASP!), a rocket propelled grenade launcher wielding maniac (originally from anywhere but Gaza it seems) that fancies blowing the fuck out of anything he can find (including Palestinians).

3)  Browse ‘The Sun’ and check the ‘Israeli vs Palestine babes gallery’, and decide which set of girls looks most up for a spitroast to decide your champion!

OR

You could just despair of the whole thing, turn off news coverage on the television, stop buying newspapers owed by former members of the KGB and watch re-runs of ‘Rhubarb and Custard’ like yours truly.

Na na na na, na na na na, na na na NA NA NA. I wonder what foxy Polish women think of ‘Rhubarb and Custard’?