A family of Neanderthal have moved inacross the river, but I shouldn’t really call them that because they don’t comefrom a German valley. The Stigs seem very nice, Q’s spoken with the wife MrsStig who’s into mocking our attempts at computers whilst Mr Stig whilst itcould be said works in the dump, he also owns it. It’s lucky they’re friendlysince whilst racist stereotypes have them as being short, 5’5” or so that wastwenty odd thousand years ago. We were averaging that at Waterloo. They’rebigger at the shoulders too, stronger, with those big old hands and much as welike to think otherwise they’ve got bigger brains. Mr Stig suffers for this arthritisand about our age they’re martyrs for their backs and knees but what struck methe most isn’t that they look, forgive me, somewhat lumpen so much as we looklike children. Our features as adults are still those, in comparison, as ourkids.
NowI’m not going to join the parade that feels guilty about my ancestors. Minewere mostly in music-hall. So sorry for ‘Woops Mr Porter’ but you’d have to goa lot further back to find where we might herald our triumph in a post-ice-age,or the competiveness for territory, our roaming blah blah blah. Shit hashappened and Mrs Stig loathes people apologising when she would far ratherlaugh at us – not us, but just as sweeping – turning to crystals rather thanmedicine, looking at auras and reading the future in cards. She thinks it funnythat Ming The Merciless is our shaman. But she does take the Daily Mail withher New To You Scientist, and you don’t want to get started on immigration. We’refrom Africa after all. So we’ll be politeand with luck, friends.
Theyaren’t all Robbie Williams.
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