You mean that even our chocolate boxes are Evil????? Oh come ON! Whether you like it or not, not every thatched cottage carried inside it members from Oppressors R Us!

The chocolate boxes are manufactured in crumbling pre-fab units on industrial estates of Middlesbrough by a callow proletarian youths grateful of a minimum wage. The pictures on the boxes have no meaning for them, but the bucolic idyll persists even in the riot-torn housing estates where they dwell in shadows. In one such chocolate box a junkie keeps her syringes and stash; in another a gangster keeps his knife and gun; in yet another a paedophile keeps his cherished computer disks and faded polaroids. Those same thatched cottages are now owned by wealthy commuters and second-homers whose wealth has pushed up the house prices so the locals can no longer afford to live there; worse still, the ancient interiors have been torn out and replaced by neo-rural DIY blandness.

Show me a country where the strong don't 'rule' the weak!

The strong have dispossed the weak; the cocolate box idyll is a cipher of inhumanity and Darwinian social cruelty which accepts aforementioned junkie, ganster and paedophile as prerequisites of an ongoing priviledge which is, as you say, Ye Good Olde English way. Their suffering is thus justified; they are the deserving victims of the Cocolate Box England of which you are so proud. Meanwhile, we pay good money to go into castles which were built to oppress, brutilise, enslave, rape and burn the people of our country into the numb pacifity which is yet our English Heritage. Meabwhile - we pay good money to go into the Country Houses which were built on the aforemention back-breaking labours, squallor and poverty of the urban and rural working classes; we marvel at Cathedrals raised to the glory of a God who ordered the estates of both the strong and the weak.   

Tell you what, if you don't like this country, then b*gger off somewhere else.

To repeat my post of 06 Nov 09 - 09:50 AM:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UqoTNVwhrAg

O'er grassy dale, and lowland scene
Come see, come hear, the English Scheme.
The lower-class, want brass, bad chests, scrounge fags.
The clever ones tend to emigrate
Like your psychotic big brother, who left home
For jobs in Holland, Munich, Rome
He's thick but he struck it rich, switch
The commune crap, camp bop, middle-class, flip-flop
Guess that's why they end up in bands
He's the green piece in us all
He's the creep-creep in us all
Condescends to black men
Very nice to them
They talk of Chile while driving through Haslingden
You got sixty hour weeks, and stone stone toilet back-gardens
Peter Cook's jokes, bad dope, check shirts, lousy groups
Point their fingers at America
Down pokey quaint streets in Cambridge
Cycles our distant spastic heritage
Its a gay red, roundhead, army career, grim head
If we was smart we'd emigrate

Distant spastic heritage indeed!