Euro Nightmare

I have seen the future.

It came to me only last week but through the most unlikely method.

The premonition didn’t come through telepathy , tarot cards or even travelling gypsies.

Nor did I have to squeeze my temples, forcing my brain into activity, while exasperating: “Commmme onnnnn, you stuuuuupiid heaaad orrrgaaan. Ahhhh,” for my image of the future. 

My insight into the next century, perhaps even the next decade, came from none other than my own vehicles of discernment: my peepers.

I was in Portugal, the great pretender to Greece’s King of the PIGS, and staring right back at the sun-blushed canvas that was my face was the very envisagement of a supranational union that could eventually become reality.

I was looking at Europe: one federal nation to rule them all.

While this may have uber-Lefties foaming at the mouth, and indeed, I suffered from similar convulsions, albeit through the local white, this dystopia perfectly laid out why Tory grandees might just have to thrust Boris Johnson upon the nation if Dave does not sever our ties with the continent.

So, without mentioning the obvious towel malfeasance, unkempt arm pits or catastrophic currency, allow me to outline some observations. 

Remember: this could be you.

A European’s dress sense is nonsense.

I’m no Alexander McQueen but I do have eyes. European’s, namely Germans, do not. One German man with large hands, and an even larger wife, wore dungarees over a tshirt, a pair of those ghastly Crocs and a woven cowboy hat. “Ha,” I laughed, “that guy, he’s a real joker wearing that. He must have lost a bet with his fellow Germanic pals.” It was only on the fourth consecutive evening when he was wearing precisely the same that I almost admired the gall of the man. But not his lumberjack/lesbian attire.

Europeans do weird things

The British have a reputation for being rather eccentric but we’ve a long way to go, judging by what I’ve seen, to match our continental counterparts. One hirsute, fuzzy, French chap with a moustache

not so much like a handle bar but a fully operational  bar, complete with optics, smoked a pipe while laying by the pool. A pipe. And he wasn’t a Victorian.    

(Jumping French beans! I have seen my first ever proper pipe being smoked, with all, like, the ash in the wooden bowl! Author eagerly ticks “Man Smoking ‘Real’ Pipe” off ‘Cool Things To See List’. Next up: George Lazenby cooking an omelette)

Europeans talk too much

Sometimes a little piece and quiet to gather ones thoughts is a nice way to spend a few moments, right? Try telling that to Franc and Miguel at the pool bar. It’s not just that these people talk too much, it’s the thunderous, inconsistent volumes they insist on talking in. Put a pipe in it.

Europeans are arrogant

Yes, I know, you don’t need to be Howard Carter to discover that but its the various circumstances in which their arrogance arises that baffled me. Take, for example, food. Diners would walk past my table, take one look at the quivering stack of meat piled upon my plate, raise their noses and off they went to a table with their malnourished children.

Another instance was sport. Picture the scene. Day two: England vs Rest of the World (Europe) on the scorching Astroturf football pitch. “AAAAA, you Inglesh?”, one of the Spanish said before erupting into laughter with his amigos. Last minute, Birmingham Cit fan Jason leaps like a bloody Salmon to head home: 5-4 to England.

So if Britain wants to remain its blazer wearing, meat scoffing, goal scoring best it’s future is not alongside the rest.