FRANCIS VAN DE BERKA

Back in the mother country there is nothing I'd like more than to see the Muslims Against the Crusaders have a punch up with the English Defence League and have Harry Hill as compere. Looking out of the kitchen window last night and seeing Jesus, once again coming up the road on wheels accompanied by a load of folk covering their ugly mugs with a pointed hat and other creepy masks, I wondered if Spain will ever entertain the idea of banning the bhurka or the monarchy and if and when they will start banning things like Los Moros y Cristianos, a big punch up in some areas of Spain between blokes dressed up as Moors and Christians and attacking one another. There are as many Muslims and more defenders of the patria living here than Britain but they don't seem as sanctimonious except the pointy hat lot once a year. Henderson tried to prevent me from filming them all last night as the Messiah was wheeled out again across the streets of Huesca. His argument, H's not the Lamb of God, was that they, the pointy hat lot, don't need any encouragement but I think he was just jealous of the attention I was giving them.

On the subject of flying or perhaps burning flags and wondering if you need an anthem to sing when you are drunk, I am wondering whether or not to ask my Irish boss to give me the day off on the day of the royal wedding. I have a rather pathetic paper Union Jack somewhere and failing that there are some Union Jack oven gloves that Henderson burnt in a fit of pique. I like to tell visitors they were burnt by some Muslim neighbours which along with my pointy hat lollypops I leave lying around to put people off coming again. It's good to have some ammunition in case of unwanted guests. My mum likes to leave hundreds of books piled high on any available sofas and chairs. Samuel Becket refused to switch the light on till his insufferable arrivals would have to leave or sit in the dark.

I was asked yesterday for help in translating a sentence which goes something like 'La musica de Augusto Alguero es uno de los hilos con los que durante decadas se armo el tejido simbolico de EspanYa'. Quite often what sounds poetic in Spanish sounds ridiculous in English and if we talk about the fabric, or tejido, symbolic or otherwise of England or Britain it is often in a negative way, usually to do with something from abroad, and which has changed the fabric of society forever.