Yesterday at mid-day,

this patriot,

so working-class,

whose troubles then

seemed far away,

would celebrate

Saint George’s day

with a pint - or two,

and a whisky chaser,

avoiding crass behaviour,

or thoughtless, hasty words,

with smiles for all,

“please” and “thank you”

being the order of the day,

differences forgotten,

our Christian cross

our Union Jack,

on colourful display.

The sun shone warm,

my heart inclined to

words of kindness,

some say wokeness,

“British Values”

would prevail

upon that day of days.

Then broke the dream,

when up did speak

one Jack the Lad,

who stank of weed,

my shoulder slapped,

face grinned in mine,

and asked:

“what do apple trees and Pakis

have in common, pal?

“enlighten me,

I’m avid for the truth”,

thought I.

“They hang from trees”,

replied that wit.

If those are “British Values”, mate,

stuff them where

the sun don’t shine,

stuff your God and

stuff your King and

stuff your Cuntery.