‘Nine Years on from Brexit: And I’ve Had Enough of London Too!’

Not so very long ago, our capital stood as a model for all that was great and good about Britain. 

Sitting at the heart of an Empire upon which the sun never set, it moved at its own inimitable pace as men in bowler hats, pearly kings and queens, flying nannies and Antipodean chimney sweeps went about their business. Gaiety hung in the air, and despite the occasional outbreak of plague, the lovable London cockney could always be relied upon to drop everything in a trice and break out in song.

Crime, if it existed at all, was quickly solved by little old ladies in cardigans, or retired Belgian detectives, or men in deer stalker hats, on account of all the criminals being fairly obvious from the start.

Which is not to say that things were perfect. From my research on YouTube, I have discovered that for much of the early 20^th century, people walked very quickly everywhere and could neither speak nor afford Technicolour. And while World War Two was largely a joyous enterprise, the Blitz was not all fun, fun, fun, as on one occasion Buckingham Palace got hit by a bomb.

But for the most part, people knew their place and were happy because London worked, largely because it still had coal-fired power stations. Indeed, before ‘wokies’ turned it into an art museum, Bankside provided people with all the jobs and cheap electricity they needed, and more to the point, ensured that London pea soupers were ‘real fog’ and not like the ‘Gen Z’ mists you get today. 

Despite what snobs might tell you, the food was splendid too.  Most restaurants offered a choice of two types of bread – white or brown – and an array of well-cooked food that more exotic diners could spice up with condiments that might include ‘salad cream’, ‘tomato ketchup’ or a splash of malt vinegar.

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How times have changed. I can’t remember the last time I heard of an old spinster solving a major murder case in the capital, and despite having lived in London since the 1990s, I have not once seen a chimney sweep break out into an elaborate song and dance routine with a flying nanny in a proper pea souper.

Those on the woke left will claim that this is because ‘I’m at best deluded and possibly a bit racist’ but my research, funded by the “Institute of Tax-haters”, proves, beyond all possible doubt, that every single ill in London is down to ‘Sadiq Khan’ and immigrants.

Data, rigorously assembled by myself and X user @WhiteFlite9628292, shows that London is in danger of becoming different to how it was in Oswald Mosley’s day when race and immigration simply were not an issue for anyone. 

The shocking figures speak for themselves. Since Sadiq Khan was first elected mayor in May 2016, not one statue has been erected to Winston Churchill. Wimpy restaurants, once so prevalent in the capital, have all but disappeared from our streets. 

Whole swathes of the city have been pedestrianised and while laughing, happy young people drink mocha lattes in the sun, or enjoy a disturbing ‘continental’ al fresco evening dining experience in the no go areas of Camden, Soho and Islington, London’s black cab drivers have to go ‘the long way round’ to the GB News studio in Paddington.

Meanwhile, many of the city’s best carparks now double as farmers’ markets, while the streets fill up with people protesting the mass slaughter of children in wars, making it almost impossible for Paul Marshall to park his Bentley in the capital at the weekends. 

But it is the demographic shift that shocks most of all. As evidenced by the electoral rolls, once common British surnames like Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, Brunel, Disraeli, and Harthacnut have all but disappeared from the capital and while 18 children in England have been christened Nigel since 2016 – none of them were born in Brixton. 

Even more chillingly, we have discovered that every single “White British” person who is alive in London today will have been replaced by someone else by the year 2147. 

All of this is happening in front of our eyes. But like the graffiti that is so prevalent in the capital, nobody seems to care. One particularly egregious example of the latter, near Waterloo station, features a large bear in a duffel coat and red hat with the terrifying slogan ‘everyone is welcome here’ written underneath. Who put it there is anyone’s guess, but it is a frightening reminder that this city, which was once home to the likes of Prince Albert, Freddy Mercury, George Handel and Judith Kerr, has fallen to an unstoppable wave of immigrants.

The London of bombsites, dirty abandoned buildings, National Front marches, racist schoolyard jokes, skinheads sniffing glue, three choices of baked potato and a drab and very dangerous underground system is in serious danger of disappearing forever to be replaced by a multicultural hell hole where people just want to rub along together.

The promise of Brexit was that all this unnecessary change would be stopped in its tracks, and maybe it really is time that we took back control and built a gigantic wall around London to seal it off. 

In the meantime, it’s enough to make one want to move to Spain. 

If only I could.

As told to Otto English