“The war made us”, says Peter Boomer, 64, “every Friday, me, Baz, Jimbo, Fat Nigel, Mark Francois, Badger and Les head to The Victory to sink some pints and reminisce about how we personally and single-handedly stuffed it to those commie Krauts.”
Born in 1956, Peter is part of the brave generation that secured a decent slice of wealth, property and opportunities through an egalitarian governance system set up by their war-scarred parents; enthusiastically helped dismantle this system as soon as they realised that younger, brighter minds might want a slice of the cake; rode an ascendant property boom for 30 years; proudly used their hard-earned democratic right to undermine the institution that has delivered peace on the European continent; openly harbour hostility to certain religious and ethnic groups they believe are ‘taking over’; regularly vote for corrupt kleptomaniacs for shouting ‘Britain’ loudly whilst shafting British businesses and taxpayers and funnelling the gains in offshore havens; standing idly by whilst said kleptomaniacs throw the sick, vulnerable and, er, actual WWII survivors under the bus when a global pandemic rolls around; unhelpfully believe that all foreigners harbour jealous grudges and must speak in English, and grow gammon-red in the face when some smart-alec good-for-nothing whingeing Millenial suggests they are anything other than a lion-hearted bulldog-spirited warrior-king.
This VE day, let’s forget the crybaby snowflake nonagenarians in care homes with their message of peace and hope, and raise a glass to the proud, brave, bloodthirsty generations of warriors who would have definitely stormed the beaches strapped in a Union Jack with Dame Vera Lynn tattooed to their buttocks if they’d just, er, been born.