On Brits Abroad

I am perpetually embarrassed not only by the behaviour but also the physical appearance of other Brits abroad. Australians are well known for their bronzed, lean bodies, curves perfect by years of charging about in waves and muscles honed by manly things such as wrestling crocodiles. The Americans (ignoring those that come from pretty much anywhere but coastal cities) are loud and confident, and so they should be with their fine-tuned figures and dazzling line of straight white teeth. The Scandinavian women are renowned for being blonde beauties, the men for their Nordic God-like status; South Africans are about as hip as they come, the majority of Europeans small, neat and compressed packages of Mediterranean bliss. (Setting aside, obviously, the Germans with their total inability to wield a razor). The Dutch are tall and armed with broad, confident grins.

The Brits? Oh dear God. Men come with the pre-requisite features of a beer belly, excessive quantities of hair gel creating an impossibly ridiculous hairstyle that they are under the much misguided belief makes them look 'cool', pecs that sag dangerously, puny white shoulders covered with an array of zits - caused by a long confinement under warm and humid jumpers necessary to see them through the dark, gloomy and damp winters. The women invariably have miniature paunches hanging over their stomachs, thighs that roll around entirely independently of their owner, are either - for some reason - completely flat-chested or have breasts the size of water-melons swinging merrily around their knees, and expansive backsides that are barely contained by that cute little bikni from TopShop. Both men and women have horrific teeth, and a firm belief that being drunk is Sexy.

This is actually a genuine problem - not me just ranting away here. The British Ambassador in Majorca (or some similarly unfortunate island, invaded on a regular basis by hordes of scantily clad couch potatoes) actually resigned from his post due to the embarrassment he felt at the behaviour of the Brits visiting there. I am privately quietly confident that he also couldn't stand being associated with them physically, but that would hardly do to present such a reason to your superiors...

I have a solution. Radical, perhaps, but a definite solution. By a system of voting, we establish the very worst cities in the UK and, likewise, the very best. At a rough guess I'm placing Bradford, Newcastle (if only for the accent) and most of the Midlands into the former category, and the likes of London, Oxford and Manchester into the latter. The most ghastly specimens of British flesh will be forced to live and work in places such as Bradford (I alone will ascertain their rating on the Ghast Scale, as it shall be known - possibly with a few carefully selected assistants), and only allowed into the delights of superior cities when they reach an appearance verging on the acceptable. Once a girl can sport a size 10 bikini without having flesh bulging over the edges (or if they are a well-rounded size 14, as Ms Monroe was, and again as Ms Monroe lacking the orange-peel thighs so often associated with these greater portions of flesh), and a guy has defined muscles and at the very least a two-pack (preferably higher) and an understanding that hair gel is a hideous concoction, they will be allowed to represent us abroad. In order not to appear unfair, I will allow the large masses from Bradford etc. to holiday annually in the regions of Africa where obesity is considered a positive. I am confident that despite receiving praise from the men and women there, they will be so perpetually hot and uncomfortable they will resign themselves to slimming down and being allowed further afield. (Furthermore, with the disturbing tendency of African countries to descend into civil war at a moment's notice, a good portion of the more blubbery element who are unable to run away could well be disposed of in this fashion, with limited inconvenience to the rest of the UK's population).

Yes, it is possible that foreign men will seek out British women - not because they are notorious for getting drunk beyond belief and thus are wearing an invisible 'I'm easy' sign around their necks, but because they will be known for being sleek and smooth. Foreign women will throw themselves at British men, not in pursuit of a visa or a passport, but because British men have Shoulders, and thighs that could crack a coconut open.

I am also working on the theory that only Brits of a certain IQ should be allowed abroad. This has the advantage that an extremely minimal number of Brits would be allowed out of the country: I feel the prospect of a confinement within the boundaries of the UK for an entire lifetime would be enough to raise suicide rates to a level that would cull the lardy idiots with which we all daily have to contend, and leave a supreme race of acceptable-looking, intelligent people. I for one am sick to death of being placed in the same category as people who have enough spare tyres to sort out a fleet of multi-axle lorries, as people who have a reputation for drinking like a fish and behaving in all other manners like rabbits; as people who proudly pat their beer bellies and who regularly cause damage to innocent sun-loungers and plastic garden furniture.

Call these measures radical if you will - I think they are necessary and justified for the return of Britain as a country of which we can be proud to belong. I propose, until we are sorted out and properly whittled down, a new version of the National Anthem, to be sung daily in schools (as in America) to engage the populace at large:

God save my bloated spleen,
God make me nice and lean,
Make my lungs clean...
Dum dum dum dum -
Make me look glorious,
Once more victorious,
No more fat blubber-ness,
God, make me lean.
(Written in approximately the time taken to type that. I'll work on it and tweak it)