While I’m on the subject of real racism, this is a perfect time to bring up again the matter of “rhetorical racism”: the kind of racism some ascribe to those who have the nerve to disagree with them or merely to offend their refined aesthetics. Working class people who put England flags on their cars, for example, are rhetorically racist. My charming neighbour Wardy, the forensic Mr Ablution, and witty Pollard have already skewered this one.
Remember the newsagents with the turd problem? Today the shop’s proprietor, a man who comprehensively fails the Tebbit Cricket Test, is mostly wearing an extra-large T-shirt with an enormous cross of St George plastered over it.
And, being an understated metrosexual kinda guy, I will be holding up my corduroys this afternoon with a belt that has a steel/gunmetal-grey England flag subtly embossed onto its buckle, as I sit with PooterGeek Snr, watching us thrash Trinidad and Tobago in the World Cup.