The joys of PC
The irony is that, had I made it, I would have gone to Aspinall's immediately follow- ing dinner — I am told the Prince goes early to bed — and would have driven home to Lyall Street with Sally and Aspers, and, God willing, perhaps I could have helped a bit. (They often drive me to their home which is near mine, and I walk from there.) For any of you who may have missed it, John and Sally Aspinall were attacked by three black knife-wielding cowardly thugs and badly beaten up when they resisted.
Now, before I go on, a little background. On 10 June 1995, I attended a party in honour of Joan Collins at Daphne's, dined at San Lorenzo with Charles Glass, and walked home to Cadogan Square. Luckily I was sober. In Cale Street, where I said goodnight to Glass, I noticed three black men in their twenties coming my way. After they passed me, I heard one of them sprint- ing and by the time I turned around he was on me, punching me hard on the back of the head, and in no time the other two were joining the fray. I fought them off as best I could, holding one of them up tight and trying to use him as a shield. We rolled on the ground, and one of them tried awfully hard to take my eye out. Fortunate- ly, they did not use a knife. I lost my signet ring in the struggle and some of my dignity, but not much more. Someone screamed and they ran off empty- handed. I got the worse of it, but I man- aged to hurt one of them. One week later, Charles Glass was very badly beaten up by, yes, you guessed it, three black men in their twenties, but on the other side of the park.
Aspers was not so lucky. The three thugs had knives, and were threatening to kill Sally. Aspers, who is 73 and very frail because of chemotherapy for cancer of the jaw, should have begged off. Instead, he had a go and was severely punched in the jaw by one of the burly cowards. Had he been hit on the cancerous side he would have died on the spot. Yet England's great- est man did not hesitate. The reason Aspers lunged at them was — incredibly because they produced a machete while they had Sally on the ground. This is Charge of the Light Brigade stuff.
What I find so appalling is the cowardice of the scum. When I spoke to Aspers, he wasn't even angry. 'My wife's ancestors were admirals and conquerors,' he said, `she was not about to panic.' And he didn't blame the scum. 'They were invited here by our leaders in the Fifties who were short- sighted and did not realise that Afro- Caribbeans would have a very hard time adapting to a different culture,' was the way he put it. 'They [the politicians] are the real criminals. Enoch, I'm afraid, only got the timing wrong.'
Sally was even more Christian. 'It has happened to others and much worse.' Needless to say, I am not so forgiving.
The greatest outrage is that only the Daily Mail reported the fact the slime were black. Yet I'm willing to bet my last drachma that the majority of muggings of the old and frail are perpetrated by young black thugs. I sim- ply cannot see many other people — with the exception of the IRA — viciously assaulting the old and the defenceless except for hoodlum macho young blacks, a posture their culture encourages, incidentally.
And what is the fuzz doing? Absolutely nothing. The criminal system has complete- ly broken down under PC, and the law- abiding, tax-paying whites are the victims. What is to be done? Easy. We need vigi- lante groups in order to protect ourselves and our families, because Jack Straw and Tony Blair may talk a lot but basically are on the side of the muggers. And you know I'm right. If the Blair-Straw gang had a choice between being called racist and pro- tecting the defenceless, or leaving the defenceless to their fate and being seen as politically correct, they would choose the latter with alacrity.
Such are the joys of PC. Such are the joys of hypocritical newspapers not scream- ing to high heaven about the young black thug problem. Such are the joys of the Macpherson report and other such crap. Even Charlie Glass, a lefty, refused to write that his attackers were black. But in his case I understand. His friends, after all, are people like Salman Rushdie and Christo- pher Hitchens (the former heavily protect- ed and paid for with our taxes, the latter living in America) and they wouldn't care to have a racist in their midst. Finally, the Norfolk farmer who shot a bur- glar sits in jail because the fuzz cannot guarantee his protection. Such are the joys of Blair's England. Me, I'd rather be in Kosovo.