A tale of two countries: London and England. I’ve had the most perfect week on my little sailing boat in England. Mooring up in Woodbridge, Suffolk and others along the River Deben, then visiting Constable country around Dedham. Every village was beautiful. Every place was clean and tidy. Free of litter and graffiti. Every place was all white people. British people. People who spoke English. Villages with little honesty boxes to leave your money and take the home grown produce. The National Trust at Flatford Mill where Constable painted the haywain didn’t have books on how all white people are terrible. It had books on Constable, the beauty of his work and the beauty of the countryside. It had people enjoying tea and sandwiches sitting in the gardens in the sunshine enjoying their surroundings. It took a few days to realise the complete and utter difference between these places and London. This was England, full of the English. Then, as I came back into London, I left England and arrived back in the third world. The people weren’t English. They weren’t British. They had zero affinity with England. I was a foreigner. This is now their land, given to them by successive governments. Given to them along with the free houses and healthcare and money for life. Not in exchange for any added contribution to this country, but just for being here. Given to them with money from the sweat and toil and stress of making ends meet of the British people over hundreds of years. Walking around most of London, you would be hard pressed to know which third world country you were in. There are still some white ghettos remaining: Chelsea, Highgate, Hampstead, Kensington and Chiswick. All predominantly white areas. All the areas that given enough money, you’d choose to live. That’s not a coincidence. It’s not a coincidence that you’d choose to live in Kensington rather than Shepherd’s Bush. The English living in the villages and towns I visited are loving life. They have no idea that very soon the government will dump thousands from the third world onto them and every town like them. They will call me racist right now because to them, they have nothing to worry about. They can’t see the imminent destruction of their way of life. In the 1930s, Churchill warned that Germany was gearing up for war and people said, oh don’t be silly, it’s lovely that Germany is building so many roads and ships and planes. Once people realised why they’d built them, it was too late. Once the beautiful people in the villages of England realise they’ve been taken over and they live in the third world suddenly, it will be too late. I loved visiting England. I’m back in London now and please don’t tell me that London is in England. They’re two very different countries.