Peoples of Olde England (the North/South divide) - a declaration of war By The King Rat

Since the dawn of time before English folk focussed their anger on immigrants and the sharp decline of Only Fools and Horses, we whiled away the hours hating anyone and everyone. We hated our families, our neighbours, our fellow townspeople. We hated people on TV, successful people, the weather, the Germans.

We hated others of different shires, and most of all we hated those who habited either the north or the south of that illusionary line which runs unseeable through our tiny island. Where the border actually crosses who knows, maybe the point where people neither have sense of humour nor grasp of grammar is where never the twain will meet; Uttoxeter, the no mans land of England.

Maybe a large wall (like that one they had in Germany, you know, that one) could be erected the span of the country, a dominating reminder of our ancient differences. Patrols of Sullen Southerners with Crufts winnin' guard dogs stalkin' the lands of Leicestershire heckling their enemy with taunts of incest.

Grim Northerners and their messenger pigeons patrolling Sherwood Forest, also heckling their enemy with taunts of incest. The midlands, a no-go area in constant threat of violence and death (no change there then). In the North, the city of Leeds surrounded in a ring of steel, defying their own kin with the raised standard of Harvey Nicholls, the despised emblem of the South. While Micheal Parkinson and Geoffrey Boycott are arrested and taken to prepared Concentration camps in Bournemouth and the isle of Wight.

Blunkett declares eating Yorkshire puddings a capital offence punishable by denying the offender their daily ration of couscous. Chas n Dave form the SSP (Southern state police) and begin a campaign of rounding up anyone suspected of drinkin' mild and eating brown sauce. Ten foots burned, Rugby league banned, Bet lynched. Up North, Cockney rhyming slang classed as devil-speak, Johnny Vaugan beheaded, thousands of Chesire executive-refugees fleeing Southwards to escape the occupation.

A country in turmoil and upheaval, a people divided. England becomes a place of suspicion and fear. A new cold war for the 21st century. The Queen, unable to get to her estates in balmoral pressures the Government of Southern England to make open war upon the North. With the promise of a life time supply of Ginsters pork pies, Prescott betrays the weak points in the Northern wall to a megalomanical Micheal Caine. A huge army is raised, composed of Somerset cider brewers and a mechanised brigade of Essex lads in Nissan Micra,. making their way through Staffordshire intent on invasion and subjugation.

Meanwhile in the Northern Capital of Manchester, the socialist council of decent ordinary folk headed by Flat cap chief Brian Blessed, consider the campaign ahead. Blessed: (very, very loudly) It is an insult to the staunchness of our manhood that they bring such a paltry force to supplant us. Arhhh. Duke of Scouseland: Got best brigade raiding the supply lines day and night, by the time they get to the wall, they'll be videoless.

Blessed: Yes, videoless and rank with fear. Arhhh. Earl of Tykeland when can our forces assemble. Arhhh. Earl of Tykeland. Three days tat most, thee has called up all o' Yorkshire for battle, includin' fifth regiment who've just finished ransackin' the traitorous city of Leeds. Discussions went on through the night. Real ale was drunk, weird folk songs sang, ferrets raced. So we come to the great battle of our age. Upon the fields of Knutsford, son of Albion fought Son of Albion for the survival of each ursurgent nation. Geordie duelled Brummie, Cockney killed Manc, a bloke from Blackpool kicked a Welshman. The ferocity of both cultures clashed in fierce rivalry.

The battle raged for hours, thousands died, widows made, the bloodiest confration on British soil since Barrymores My kind a people came to Salford. When all hung in the balance and the opposing hordes eyed each other in a surreal lull of conflict, the unexpected happened. Bouyed by England's disarray and for Nostalgias sake, a massed host of Scandinavians invaded. Docking and sacking an empty Whitby they arrived on the battles flank. Through desperate measures, the opposing commanders of the North and South, - Blessed and Hoskins made truce and vowed to fight the common enemy. The rest as they say is History, or in this case the future. So the next time you find yourself in a strange town, miles away, far from home, remember this; the Swedes are not all Blonde hair and porn movies.

This was an Obnoxious, Small Minded, Bigoted production from the people who brought you Why I hate Lesbians.

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