Meet the Ukippers
Posted on February 27, 2015
One of the funniest, yet darkest things I have seen on TV for a while was the BBC 2 Documentary, ‘Meet the Ukippers’.
Unlike the dreadful Channel 4 Mockumentary ‘Ukip: the First 100 Days’ (a sensationalist load of old drivel attempting to create what it would be like, with Nigel Farage in Number 10), this programme crew actually went and mixed with the genuine UKIP troops in South Thanet.
I don’t like David Cameron, I never have, I never will, but I have to concede that his (or perhaps his spin doctor’s) description of them all being ‘fruit cakes and closet racists’ was about as good as an assessment as you will ever get.
These people were totally barking mad, every one of them looked like a strange social inadequate who have spent many a year on the sex offenders list in between eating lemon curd sandwiches and counting passing trains at Ramsgate station.
Amongst the casual xenophobia, the documentary focused on a select few local members and their campaign to get Nigel Farage elected. It was a bit like an episode of Little Britain really, funny but really creepy at the same time.
One couple, Liz and James Langton, really freaked me out because they reminded me of the sort of couple who would appear in an Episode of Tales of the Unexpected, a Sunday Night drama type of programme I used to watch in my early teens and which always spooked me out.
When the documentary team opened the door of their home, all that could be seen was toy clowns, hundreds of them, on every mantelpiece in every cupboard and every shelf. Like many people, I don’t like clowns and this couple of weirdo’s confirmed why. It was like the film set of a Stephen King movie.
However, as racists, they weren’t in the same league as Martyn Heale, a sinister looking bloke who scoffed at his previous history with the National Front as if it was just a little phase he was going through at the time.
Martyn Heale: Weird Racist
His speech at the Christmas Party, an occasion that looked like the annual conference for 1970’s swingers, was one of the most bizarre things I have ever witnessed. I didn’t think those type of weirdo 70’s racists existed anymore.
Probably the worst…actually not probably, definitely the worst character of all, was UKIP Councillor, Rozanne Duncan who, whilst taking her dogs to stay with the Langton’s so she could have a break, conceded that whilst she liked the shopkeepers – “Pakistani’s or Indians or whatever they were” she could not bring herself to like Negroes.
“I don’t know what it is, it’s just the shape of their faces…I know I shouldn’t dislike them, but I do.”
You will have to watch the programme to believe it as it was so shocking that even the clown collecting weirdo’s, the Langton’s, felt obliged to shop her to party headquarters, who promptly sacked her, not because she was racist but by my reckoning, because they couldn’t trust her to keep her mouth shut.
She was the type of attention seeking woman who assumes that everyone else thinks she is a real character because she says “That’s me, I say it as it is, take or leave it!”
Rozanne Duncan: Doesn’t Like Negroes
The hardest and perhaps most controversial thing to decipher when you pick the bones out of this group of weirdos is whether they are any sort of threat to the future society. Are they a genuine movement of the future or just a bunch of attention seeking xenophobes who will soon be the paper that contained yesterday’s chips?
I actually wonder what Nigel Farage really thinks when these nutjobs come along and cheer him at his speeches. Does he really think these people are his type of person or does he, deep inside, wonder how the hell his revenge on the centre right of the Tory party has gained such a groundswell of supporters.
If you have ever been in a country pub in southern England you will have met a clone of Nigel Farage blabbing on about the good old day when kids were polite, corporal punishment was all the rage, summers were summers, coppers clip you round the ear, Jimmy Savile could stick his hand down your trousers and how town centres had changed for the worst since the admittance of other races to this country.
A lot of them are dead now but most pubs still have one and I have to admit there was a time when I was young when I used to find them semi-amusing, harmless eccentrics who had claimed their own bar stool and beer tankard.
As I got older I realised that these people are just sad old idiots who never listened to a word you said unless you wore mustard trousers and bragged about shooting badgers or how you swerved your Land Rover at Mandheep, who had just taken over at the local Post Office.
They are just boorish, unfunny haters of a cosmopolitan society and that is what Nigel Farage is in my opinion. He wouldn’t waste five seconds of his life with the eccentric Little Britain types with greasy hair and glasses like the bottom of milk bottles, but bizarrely that is where his hopes of success lie.
Britain is renowned for all its eccentricities and perhaps we should all be glad that these strange people exist as we don’t all want to be the same, carrying identical morals, faith and ideologies.
Eccentricity is a good thing but when it is wasted on people who will shout you down when you dare to challenge the nonsense they are spouting, it has little point to it.
Eccentric racists aren’t really dangerous, they are just pointless.