I can’t stop looking at Muslim women’s feet

With an Afro-Saxon chronicle.

Below the niqab I have seen three types of footwear:

  1. Well-polished black shoes belonging to secret policemen;
  2. The trainers of gay men going to fancy dress parties;
  3. Hiking boots or flipflops of normal women who have thrown a sickie and want to get to the station without being recognised.

Banning the Islamic postbox would compromise the British way of life.

The other day as the shades of night were falling, i.e. around lunchtime, I took a stroll and was about to cross a canal bridge when some gruff billy goats began roaring beneath it, and there rang out, “I is British innit!” “May I join you?” I asked the duffle coat keeping watch, and found three black boys discussing identity in the wake of Paris, which has upset many people more than it has middle-class white liberals.

What’s out: English (racist), Afro-Caribbean (we don’t live there), Nation of Islam (WTF, or quid, as French lawyers say).

What’s in: black, black British, er…

I tried West Indian, which I still think is more honest and attractive than Afro-Caribbean, but no.

What about Afro-Saxon – I improvised – invading hordes, male bonding, voluptuous women, party favours, fast knifework? Hahahaha, you’re crazy, but on returning home I find anyway that it already exists in rather less positive form: wigger; Sir Ellis Clarke.

Before going back to dictionaries and work, I visited the A&H, and, with a portrait painter, watched a documentary about kangaroos, and then another, on another channel, about their armoured cousins, the tyrannosauri. Now that sperm editing is available at your local Chinese and WWIII has begun, we are going to keep a new-style guard tyrannosaurus on a long chain outside, but will put up a bigger fence so it doesn’t fall in the canal and drown.

Similar posts


Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *