Banged up abroad

17 October 2008.

So the two Brits caught copulating on a Dubai beach have been banged up. Whatever the Sharia law sentence applied, having seen pictures of the pair the most criminal element in all this seems to be that the couple were allowed to engage in coitus at all. The human race will eventually evolve into a repulsive species if people the world over who look like that are bumping uglies.

This incident highlights the problem with the rise of the chav. Although the Brits holidaying in Dubai were staying in five star accommodation, back home council estate inhabitants are replicating their behaviour: Here the estate’s allotment is the beach, and a bottle of White Lightning represents the Dubai couple’s champagne.

The key difference is that over here the equivalent people seem to be either too impoverished or too stupid to strap it up before they slap it up. The fact these same amorous antics are being undertaken by people half the Dubai holidaymakers’ age means at least two generations of chavs are being churned out in the time the rest of the UK’s baby-delaying population create one.

It does not take a genius to realise that at this Dawn of the Dead-esque zombie-breeding rate, chavs will form the majority of this country’s population before too long. Are these the people you want attending the same nursery as your children, voting on issues that affect you, working for you and sitting next to you on public transport?

Or, if you’re struggling to comprehend that question, substitute “Are these the people” for “Is Josef Fritzl the person” and ask yourself again. Clearly the answer is about as much as Dot Cotton giving a lap dance hence if you answered in the affirmative, abandon this bi-annual internet café visit, go back to your council estate and for once in your life invest our taxes aka your benefits in something useful like shampoo, spot cream, a lifetime supply of contraceptives or a barricade so you cannot ever get out of your front door again – not another B-wise shell-suit.

Apart from someone touring the country’s council estates with a van full of equipment to undertake mass vasectomies and hysterectomies, or holding them all at gunpoint until they’ve all severed off their own genitals with the blades they like displaying on CCTV, it seems there is little that can be done to stop these acne-laden misfits taking over.

Short of sending the winner of the inaugural winner of Mr Gay UK round to cook up a feast, perhaps the only option is to lock all the facially-loathsome and intellectually-deprived up like our United Arab Emirates friends have done, although that will never happen in a country like the UK where a proposal for legislation restricting the ability to smack children is being debated, when actually the reverse – i.e. universal use of the cane – should be enforced.

The reprobates probably can’t afford an abortion for one. Then there’s the issue that they’re most likely too stupid to realise that they’re even pregnant, given that most chavs seem to spend as much time in school as Ledley King spends on a football field.

Not in education, the basis for their aggregate intelligence stems from things like Radio 1, where an entire show’s team were unable between them this week to explain how the moon affects tides, and, previously, why the Government should not purely print more money to overcome the current financial crisis.

This, mind you, is against a backdrop of a fellow show’s idea this week for a segment being to entice its entire audience to text message in any song that he would play three of after counting down the submission time limit. Another song could have been squeezed in the time it took to explain the segment, and Seve Ballesteros could have come up with that idea anaesthetised during his brain tumour ops.

Indeed, the message cost charged in doing so is more criminal than the phone competitions scam, although those idiotic enough to actually submit a song are clearly about as smart as a bowl of pig swill. Whether that’s more shocking than the BBC using the licence fee to record its abysmal jingles at the £10,000 an hour Abbey Road studios is up for you to fathom.

Worse still, the overall theme of the show this week is to simply tour a few of the nation’s university student digs, inspecting the undergraduate’s consumption habits and facilities. Wow. That’s about as entertaining as stuffing a hedgehog inside your rectum, and as imaginative as eating turkey at Christmas. I’d rather stare at a map of the world’s best public toilets.

If the Beeb is that stuck for ideas to fill its presenters’ six-figure-salaried shows, why not just play music and employ no presenter? Or are the brainless chavs now diffusing into other sectors of society and slowly taking over such that the rest of us are already condemned to their inferior acumen?