The Meaning of Life #7 – Asylum

“…Yes well, you say that,” said the man in the cavalry twill overcoat, thrusting his newly emptied glass under the nose of the man in the moleskin waistcoat, “but you have a house and a job.”
“So do you.  We all do.”
“No thanks to you and your type.”
“What do you mean my type?” asked Moleskin, gathering up the three empty glasses as the man in the meerkat T shirt attempted to loosen the last shard of cheese and onion crisp from the packet’s seam with his tongue.
“Communists,” said the man in the coat.
“Communists?” asked the man in the waistcoat.  “I vote Labour, the same as you.  The same as everyone around here.  I could vote for Orville the Duck for all the difference it would make, so how am I to blame for people not being able to get jobs and houses?”
“You and your army of do-gooders letting all-comers into the country without a single thought for our own unemployed.  No-one looks for a job anymore: they can’t get ‘em.  Not a decent job to be had these days.  All taken by the illegal immigrants.  You can’t even get a decent hotel room on account of the asylum seekers having them all, gorging themselves on caviar and free drinks from the mini bar I shouldn’t wonder.  Stocking up on free toiletries to send back home…”
“Well, it won’t bother you, will it?” said Meerkat as Moleskin departed for the bar.  “You always said that you’d close all the hotels anyway.  ‘Capitalist playgrounds’, isn’t that what you call them every time Moley goes on holiday?  It’s why you always choose to spend your two weeks in your sister’s caravan instead isn’t it?”
“Yes, well, times change don’t they?  We were forced to re-evaluate our position re caravan holidays on account of the unreasonable demands of the site commandant re not drying my underwear on the veranda last year.”
“Yes, well, they’re getting very particular on caravan sites now aren’t they?  I suppose that people don’t want to find themselves sitting in the hot tub of an evening, drinking Prosecco and nibbling on their little bits of cod’s roe on toast whilst staring at the holes in your dripping underpants.”
“There are no holes in my underwear!  I am very particular about them, hence my need to wash them once a week, and I’ve got to dry them somewhere.  Can’t expect me to put ‘em back on wet can they…  Is he brewing that bloody beer?”  Together they looked over to the bar where the barman was just passing the third pint to Moleskin.  “And what about him behind the bar?” continued the man in the Cavalry Twill overcoat.  “You’re not telling me he’s here legally.”
“He’s from Wolverhampton,” answered Meerkat.  He’s a trainee solicitor.”
“Why’s he working in a pub then?”
“Earning extra money I think.  Saving up for a house.”
“Hah!  My point exactly!” said CT, raising his voice just sufficiently for it to be heard in the very corners of the Empire.  “He’ll have to pay a fortune to get one, but if he’d come here on a bloody dinghy he’d get one for free.”
“I don’t think they are just given houses are they?” asked Meerkat.  “I think they’re held aren’t they, in some kind of prison camp or something until they’re allowed to stay?”
“Or a five star hotel room that subsequently becomes unavailable to the honest working man seeking a break from the petit bourgeois snobbery of the caravan-owning elite,” ranted the man in the coat.  “No expense spared there.  Hot and cold running state benefits, NHS dentistry and colour TV.  Don’t even have to pay for the licence I shouldn’t wonder.”
“Most of them end up living in some squalid HMO* with a dozen other men sharing a single bathroom and doing all the shitty jobs that ‘our own’ unemployed wouldn’t touch with a bargepole,” said the man in the Moleskin waistcoat as he placed the glasses on the table.  “And you, if you don’t mind me saying so, haven’t to the best of my knowledge, paid for a TV licence since they scrapped the detector vans – it’s why all your TV’s are on wheels.”
“You’re glamorising them,” said CT, choosing not to acknowledge an argument he could not counter..
“I just don’t think they’re all bad.  I mean, what would you do?”
“Oh, ‘They’re escaping war and starvation; protecting their wives and children…’ you’re trying to make them sound noble.”
“I’m trying to make them sound human.”
“Problem is,” said the man in the meerkat T shirt as he examined his pint through the misted side of the glass.  “We’re just a small island aren’t we?  We’ve got limited space…  Do you think there’s a fly in there?”
“I don’t think anyone would deny that,” agreed Moleskin.  “We can’t cope with the numbers, but It’s about finding a way to deal with people who do need our help without turning them into ‘the enemy’.  We’re just not making much of a job of it, are we?”
“Why don’t we just ask the French to pop the boats before they set off?” asked Meerkat, rising to his feet.  “I think I’m going to ask them to change it,” he said.
“He makes a solid point,” said the man in the lovat tweed.  “Nobody gets far in a leaking inflatable.  I once got stranded on a sandbank off Southend and had to survive on nothing more than a plastic cupful of winkles while I was waiting for the lifeboat to come.  Bloke at the end of our street, he came over in a boat.  Got his own house and he’s retired on a full state pension now.”
“He came across on The Windrush,” said the man in the waistcoat.  “We asked him to come.”
“I bloody didn’t!”
“You weren’t born.  It was 1948.  He was a child and his dad came over here and worked in the steelworks all his life.  He’s a flippin’ teacher.  He taught your kids.”
“My point exactly,” said CT.  “Look at the bloody state of them.”
“Not entirely all his fault is it?  Your Shaun was hardly ever there.”
“The standard of learning in the school didn’t challenge him.”
“He walked out because they wouldn’t let him smoke in class.  He set fire to the science lab.”
“It was a fly,” said the man in the meerkat T shirt, returning to his seat.  “The barman said it was dead, but he changed the pint anyway.”
“What school did you go to?” asked CT.
“The same one as your kids,” answered Meerkat.  “Why?”
The man in the Cavalry Tweed overcoat took a giant sip from his glass and grinned at the man in the waistcoat.  “My point,” he said, “is made.”
“What point?” asked Meerkat.
“Nothing,” said Moley.  “Ignore him.  He’s just being fatuous.”
“…I enjoyed school,” said Meerkat.  “Except maths, I was never much good at maths and I didn’t like Shakespeare.”
“You did Shakespeare?”
“Did he write ‘The Famous Five’?”
“No.”
“No then…  I didn’t care for books really.  ‘Why bother with reading when you’ve got a perfectly good telly to watch,’ my dad used to say”
“Another solid point,” said CT.  “Books are the source of a million untruths.”
“Whereas TV never lies?” asked Moleskin.
“A picture is worth a thousand words, isn’t it?”
“Depends on the words I suppose,” said the man in the moleskin waistcoat, draining his glass and offering it to the man in tweed, who continued as if unaware of it. 
“Can’t lie on telly,” he said, pulling his coat tighter around his shoulders.  “The advertisers won’t allow it.”
“I don’t know,” said Meerkat.  “My mum bought some Shake ‘n’ Vac because she liked the song on the advert, but it didn’t put the freshness back into our carpet.  Ended up smelling like a brothel my dad said.”  The man in the Cavalry Twill overcoat opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced by a glare from the man in the waistcoat.  “…I used to like those little robots who advertised powdered mashed potato,” continued Meerkat.
“Smash!” said Moleskin. “‘For mash get Smash’.”
“That’s it…  Mind you, I don’t suppose they actually made the mash did they, the robots?”
“I don’t suppose they did,” said Moley.
“My round I think,” said the man in the Cavalry Twill suddenly hauling himself awkwardly to his feet and taking his companions completely by surprise.  “I’ve just got to go to the lavvy.  You get it will you and I’ll settle up with you when I get back.”
“How?”
“Do you take credit cards?”
“Patently not,” said Moleskin.
“Well you’ll just have to wait until I’ve got some cash then,” said CT chuckling loudly.
“You never have cash,” muttered the man in the waistcoat bitterly.
“Well, you’ll just have to wait until I get some then.”
“Where from?”
“Oh, I don’t know.  Perhaps I’ll get myself a second job and start to save up for a holiday in a five star hotel… no, wait…”
“I’m sure he’ll pay you,” said Meerkat.
“Yes, when hell freezes over,” said Moleskin.
“Can it do that?” asked Meerkat.  “I never knew…”

*House of Multiple Occupancy

In case you should wish to know The Meaning of Life #1 is here.
Episode 2 ‘Supplementary Philosophy’ is here.
Episode 3 ‘Ancient Greeks’ is here.
Episode 4 ‘Gas’ is here.
Episode 5 ‘Crisps’ is here.
Episode 6 ‘Like Flamingos’ is here.

I can only apologise…