This is what I feared- coming back to England and finding it is full of idiots. Benefit tourism? I can't even be arsed arguing. I could go on and on and on explaining why 'benefit tourism' is a made-up thing but I literally don't have the energy. Even if people did want to come to the UK to claim benefits, which they don't, they wouldn't be able to. (It was a hard slog for me to get Job Seekers Allowance for three weeks this summer and I speak fluent English and have a British passport.)
If people really want to believe that 'foreigners' are coming over here to steal jobs and benefits then let them believe it, I don't care. I'm not going to go on a rant...
I would like to point out however, that there are over 5.5 million Brits living abroad, 'stealing jobs' in Spain, New Zealand, Australia, Canada, Thailand, France, Dubai... The horrible truth of it is that the bigoted Brits panicking about 'benefit tourism' draw distinctions between British emigrants and foreign immigrants because they think British people are better than anyone else. They should just admit it- instead of saying 'I'm worried Polish people will come over to do the low-paid jobs that I don't want to do', they should just say:
'I'm a racist and I just want England to be full of English people, for no reason actually, haven't really given it much thought, I'm just painfully thick and shockingly racist.'
I'm so fed up, I hate England. I've got nothing to blog about. England is just a big sinking, dark hole full of shit. I hate it. I hate everything about it. Why is the tube so expensive? Why is the minimum wage so low? Why are shallots spherical?
The only thing I'm enjoying at the moment is reading my book- 'The Life of Charlotte Brontë' by Elizabeth Gaskell- but I've just go to the point where everyone, literally everyone, is dying. I suppose I should be grateful, at least I don't have to walk for miles across cold moors every day, to sit in a cold chapel and hear a very long sermon, then walk home again for a couple of cold potatoes and an early night.
Charlotte Brontë keeps telling people in her letters that she would be very distressed and heart-broken by the whole thing, if it wasn't for the existence of God...
Did you know that the Brontë sisters had a servant called Tabitha? And she told them how there used to be fairies in the valley, but they disappeared when the factories were built.
I've got my cloak with me in London now. It was actually here all the time, in a bag in Lauren's office. I might take it home at Christmas and wander the moors in it, thinking about croissants and crying. Look what I just found on YouTube: