Tuesday, 18 October 2011

Racism? Me? Really?

I've had to change my profile photo, because like I said in an earlier post it isn't a photo of me and I don't want the poor sap actually in the photo getting hung by the balls for what I'm about to say.

I never would have thought of myself as a racist but that's starting to change.

I live in a part of London with a lot of black people in it. Now black people don't bother me, from the sporadic token black people in the place I used to live to the huge numbers I see everyday in an area where my white skin makes me the token white monority. This doesn't bother me.

What does bother me is the house full of French people I live with. They're all white by the way. (You may argue that this isn't racism it's xenophobia but it's all different branches of the same tree so let's call it racism because it's the biggest, ugliest stick we can beat someone with).

So what have I got against the french? The fact that they're always around speaking in French, even when me, who doesn't speak French is in the fucking room. Now you might say that it's their native language and why should I want to stop them speaking in it. The answer is because it's fucking rude. When I'm not there, they can speak it if they want, but when I am there it's just excluding me. They all say they came to England to learn English, but they're all incredibly fucking bad at it: because they never fucking practice.

I tried to tell one of them about the guy who tried to break in a few weeks ago and after half an hour of talking slow, talking simply and charades his reaction to everything was:

'I dunno, me I work, I work.'

If you want to speak French so bad then fuck off back to France and speak it there.

Am I a racist? I hope not, but I've went from being someone who likes French music, and film to being someone who balls his fist everytime someone gargles an R.

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