Lest we forget: Moral fibre is no longer optional. Courage is no longer negotiable. And silence is not neutrality—it’s complicity.
Welcome, one and all, to the United Kingdom — the only country on earth where illegal entry comes with complimentary room service, a welcome pack, and a taxpayer-funded smartphone.
You see, some people — let’s call them enlightened, or perhaps emotionally incontinent — believe that our borders should be as open as a Greggs on a Saturday morning. These are the same people who think that turning up on a Kent beach in a rubber dinghy with no ID should grant you full access to the national treasure chest. And who are we to question their wisdom? After all, nothing says “genuine refugee” like chucking your passport into the English Channel moments before arrival.
The process is flawless — a well-oiled machine of bureaucratic benevolence. First, the new arrivals are scooped up by the Border Force, who have seemingly rebranded from immigration enforcement officers to hospitality greeters. Then it’s off to one of Britain’s finest establishments — the Bell Hotel in Epping, perhaps, or why not the Britannia in Canary Wharf? Apologies to any paying guests who thought they’d booked a relaxing break — it turns out the asylum system had other plans for your half-board holiday.
But fret not — the Government has announced with great pomp that the asylum hotels are closing. Closing, that is, in the same way that a charity shop closes before reopening as a luxury boutique for free. Where do the migrants go now? To Houses of Multiple Occupancy (HMOs), of course — hastily converted former pubs and family homes in every market town from the Smithfield Hotel Oswestry to Orkney. Because who wouldn’t want 22 strangers of unknown origin moving in next door?
And the consequences? Oh, where to begin. Can’t get a GP appointment? That’s because your surgery’s now juggling 4,000 new patients who didn’t so much “move in” as wash up. NHS waiting lists have turned into a sort of national endurance sport. Try calling your local surgery — you’ll find yourself in a phone queue long enough to qualify as a UN refugee camp of its own.
The debt? Don’t ask. Britain’s borrowing is now so astronomical that NASA has started tracking it. The legal system? Broken. Magistrates’ courts are busier than a Deliveroo driver on payday. And our police? They’ve become glorified Uber drivers for protesters — escorting hard-left agitators to the homes of decent, law-abiding people who dared to express concern that the country might be slipping into total dysfunction.
But fear not — your political class has it all in hand. From Two-Tier “The Absent” Starmer, Yvette “Pixie” Cooper-Balls, and Rachel “From Complaints” Reeves — who govern with all the gravitas of startled meerkats — to local councillors such as:
- Cllr Heather Kidd, Our Lady of Permissive Planning — letting developers in faster than a revolving pub door to HMO conversion,
- Cllr James Captain House-Share Owen — overseer of Oswestry’s transformation into Britain’s premier HMO resort,
- Cllr Alex The Boy Prince of Bureaucracy Wagner — youthful idealism with the backbone of blancmange
- Cllr Duncan The Only Green in the Village Kerr — who responds to public concern with the daring radicalism of… complete silence.
And just so that you can recognise them at some cocktail party or banquet, because that’s where you might find them: the gang’s all here. And well, you were warned:
And of course, not forgetting our own Member of Parliament, Helen Morgan, The Member for Photo Ops — will attend any ribbon-cutting, provided it’s a safe distance from accountability.
And let’s not forget the golden rule of modern Britain: If you object, you must be racist or extreme right-wing. Never mind that you’re concerned about crime, housing, NHS collapse, school placements, or social cohesion — you’re just not compassionate enough, apparently.
Because in this upside-down country, the criminal is the victim, the taxpayer is the villain, and the only people who shouldn’t be living in Britain are the ones who were born here and actually pay for this circus.
So, here’s a modest proposal — one that would’ve been considered common sense a decade ago but is now apparently hate speech: If you arrive here illegally, you go back. Immediately. No hotel, no HMO, no £40-a-week pocket money, no legal aid, no human rights circus — just a ticket home and a gentle reminder that British hospitality, like British patience, is running out.
And if our politicians can’t manage that? Then maybe it’s time we sent them back too.
And another gentle reminder: Moral fibre is no longer optional. Courage is no longer negotiable. And silence is not neutrality—it’s complicity.
Our theme tune? “The Sound of Silence” by Simon & Garfunkel
The Alternative Council 