Reality Shows By Patrick Henry

China is making uniforms for the British Army. In Aldershot golf clPubs old Colonels go barmy. Our image and defences gravely threatened. The Chinks will stitch us up when they lose the thread-end. Our regiments to look like aliens in the desert war, And U.S allies to hit them with friendly fire. When Royal Marines' threads fall apart they're starkers, Mis-accused of sadist games for donning schoolgirl knickers. The Chinks make Highland soldiers' kilts too light, Blown up in the wind to show our secret gear's inadequate. Chink tailoring will Shanghai our brave para. lads, Sewing 'chutes inside out so our armies get lost in clouds.

War outfits from China are the latest in the tally. Our ice-cream and pizza come from sunny Italy. Sherry and tango-dancing we get from Spain; Cheese and wine from France, much better than Kraft slices and warm cider from Devon. Dutch courage comes in gin and Its that ministers gulp, guilty Of these imports the public rage or rave on continually. Karaoke and suicide styles from Japan. Try the first and you're driven to the other one. Kebabs and carpets from Turkey's Istanbul Take away our hunger, make flats exotical. Monarchy and racism imports from Germany. The Hanovers from Hamburg grabbed our top CV: George the Third not so mad as he looks upon The Net. Hitler inspired Mosley, Haw-Haw, The National Front, Alf Garnett.

Our Mod clothes come from the U.S: peaked cap, tee-shirt, trainers. jeans. The dress code of Great Britain now like Peanuts cartoons. Our TV's from Hollywoood: Big Soaps, Rich Quiz, Reality Spectacular. Our torture system from Guantanamo. Put these together: The Guantanomo Show, Reality TV's finest hour. Anyone dusky must be a killer from Asian religions. Sports and screen stars will be the last to break in interrogations Carol Thatcher walked off with fame and millions For peeing on our hopes and family-viewing screens. Since her mama's day not much has changed. It's a game show for the world, including war. Statesmen from Cheney to Blair get tougher, richer. Only unknown Asians and poor American call-ups die. Nothing is real for keeps. One day we'll all die.

Pick up a mobile and sell something you've nicked on to Someone who can't need or afford it, can't remember who they are. Tomorrow they might be locked in Guantanamo. The last one surviving wins the show. Copyright ©2006  Patrick Henry

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