Pity poor John Bull. There he sits in his terraced house in West Ham – the one with the stone-cladding on it – typing away on his computer. It conks out. Annoyed, he rings the help-line that came with its manual – and discovers he’s talking to a man in Delhi.
The man asks him for the model number. He examines the label – noting it was made in Japan. He gives up and turns on the radio. The name on the front is “HMV”. But as he checks its label – he sees it was made in China.
He decides to go Up West to drown his sorrows. As he puts his clothes on, he checks THEIR labels. His shirt was made in Portugal. He checks his tee-shirts – Thailand. Reluctantly, he dons one, then looks around for his jeans. America? No – Poland.
Finally he reaches for his boots – DAMN, Malaysia. Thowing them down in disgust, he picks up his trainers – Indonesia.
Finally dressed, he heads for the bus-stop. The bus – driven by a West Indian – arrives and he pays his fare and settles down in his seat. He changes his mind about clubbing and decides to see a film. Having paid his money to the woman in the sari – he consoles himself with the thought that at least this is a BRITISH FILM.
It has British stars and a British director. But as he enters the auditorium, the end credits are rolling. He sees that all the technicians’ names end in “-ov” or “-ova”. He decides to join the BNP.
note: see “Damien on… Out-sourcing” at http://damienatloppers.wordpress.com/