It has taken politicians at least 20 years to develop a solution to the problem of the migrants. They can’t claim they didn’t see it coming.
My spoof show ASYLUM was created in 2000. After an Afghan airliner was taken over by terrorists, Stansted was the destination.
The authorities chose to place the hijackers in an airport hotel instead of arresting them and locking them up in Belmarsh in preparation for deportation.
The rules of the game were quite simple: ‘The competition is open to everyone buying a ticket or stowing away on one of our partner airlines, ferry companies or Eurostar. There was no refusal of any application, regardless how reasonable or unreasonable. You just need to destroy all your documents and keep the secret password ASYLUM.
After crossing the Channel in Dover, Kent, on Thursday, migrants are being escorted into Dover Harbour by Border Force personnel (pictured).
The generosity of our welfare and legal systems — and the near-certainty that they will never be deported — will continue to ensure that hundreds of thousands more migrants from the Middle East and beyond will be determined to make that hazardous journey
‘But nobody has ever adequately explained why 90 per cent of those arriving here are young men of military age — like the headbanger who blew himself up outside Liverpool Women’s Hospital at the weekend. RICHARD LITTLEJOHN: “And we know nothing about them.”
‘Hundreds of lawyers, social workers and counsellors are waiting to help. It won’t cost you a penny. Play today. You could make a lasting impact on your life.
‘Iraqi terrorists, Afghan dissidents, Albanian gangsters, Kosovan drug-smugglers, Tamil Tigers, bogus Bosnians, Rwandan mass murderers, Somali guerillas . . .
‘COME ON DOWN!’
That column was headlined: ‘Hijack an airliner and win a council house.’ It was meant to be a joke, not a Dummy’s Guide to settling in Britain. It’s been doing the rounds on the internet ever since. It was so popular that a columnist for another newspaper downloaded the entire thing and gave it to her colleagues as her work.
It seems that the Home Office also liked it. Since the 1990s, people responsible for enforcing borders have extended a red carpet to all migrants.
An entire industry, funded by the mug British taxpayer to the tune of goodness-knows-how-many hundreds of millions of pounds, has been created to throw up interminable legal challenges to prevent anyone being deported.
According to my information, no Afghan hijacker was ever returned home. Practically nobody who ever sets foot on British soil manages to do so. Only five out of 23,400 migrants to cross the Channel in this year’s fiscal year were deported by the British Government, which was revealed to the public last week.
It was discovered that at least one of the migrant arrived aboard a jet ski a few days before it was lost off Dungeness.
That’s in addition to the flotillas of dinghies used by people-smuggling gangs to transport their desperate human cargo to the Kent coast.
This column has beaten them again, we’re sorry. In May 2016, I wrote a spoof Shipping Forecast, illustrated by a brilliant Gary cartoon featuring migrants heading for Britain on an assortment of inflatables — including a giant banana, a children’s paddling pool and an inflatable dinosaur.
I even speculated that it was only a matter of time before someone landed at Dover clinging to one of Del Boy’s blow-up sex dolls. That shipping forecast had rubber rings carrying migrants being town ashore on a jetski.
You couldn’t make it up. It was not the first time that I said it.
Look, I’ve said often enough that I don’t blame anyone for seeking a better life. The TV images show small children and women getting off the rafts.
But nobody has ever adequately explained why 90 per cent of those arriving here are young men of military age — like the headbanger who blew himself up outside Liverpool Women’s Hospital at the weekend. But we don’t know anything about the people who are here.
It’s no good expecting the French to stem the tide, no matter how many millions of euros Priti Flamingo bungs the gendarmes. France has been welcoming migrants to cross La Manche into its Sangatte departure lounge since 1999.
‘Look, I’ve said often enough that I don’t blame anyone for seeking a better life. RICHARD LITTLEJOHN writes that TV images show the rescue of small children and women from the rafts.
The generosity of our welfare and legal systems — and the near-certainty that they will never be deported — will continue to ensure that hundreds of thousands more migrants from the Middle East and beyond will be determined to make that hazardous journey.
We only ever see them leaving Calais. Surely it’s time for some enterprising TV programme to follow them from source.
It sounds like a great job for Richard Hammond and James May. This could be their most grand tour yet.
Already, the boys have conquered Cambodia. The boys could try the Hippie Highway reverse from Afghanistan, all the way to Croydon DSS headquarters.
It is clearly visible now. The two men land in Kabul and are each given 500 dollars to purchase a vehicle that can make the 4,700-mile treacherous trip.
They meet up on Bagram’s bombed out runway to exchange notes. Clarkson is first in the Humvee that was left behind by American soldiers. Captain Slow is next, arriving in a damaged Toyota Land Cruiser purchased from the Taliban.
Then along comes Hammond in a red Ford Mustang, abandoned outside the officers’ mess at Kandahar and which has recently been used as a minicab in the Tora Bora mountains. ‘You idiot, Hammond,’ Clarkson taunts him.
They are given their first task by a production assistant wearing a white jacket. They take to the backroads to avoid potholes, IEDs and snipers. They must also pick up as many migrants along the route as they can. Hammond has two rear-seats that are too small to make it difficult. After colliding with the boulder, Hammond attempts to cross the mountains in order to get into Iran.
Clarkson and May feel tempted to abandon him, but ultimately agree to take him home.
The Hummer and Toyota now have their entire complement of migrants. This is handy for when the Hamster has to be pushed out of the ditch.
They hit their stride on the highway outside Tehran. Hammond spun off at 120 mph. Fortunately none of the seven migrants he’d managed to pack into the Mustang was seriously hurt.
As they travel through Syria, the hitchhikers stop and pick up a rider with an AK-47.
Some say he’s a neurosurgeon, fleeing persecution. All they know is he’s called Osama and he’s heading for Manchester.
Then it’s full speed ahead towards Turkey, where they arrive late at their hotel in Istanbul. Clarkson must be controlled from beating a producer for not ordering him lamb kebabs at his dinner.
The pair decides to make a detour through Belarus in order to get to Poland. The massive steel fence that encloses the border and the large number of Polish security officers block their path, they are then stopped by them.
Jezza, May, and Hammond decide to not turn around, so they smash through the Humvee. Now, the Mustang has not only lost both its doors and bumpers but is also crammed with bullet holes.
They drive through the night to Calais where they must find a route to England. Because of their distance, the traditional method they use to build a pontoon bridge has been ruled out.
Clarkson takes the Humvee across but soon finds it stuck in the sand.
May then has an idea. The plan is to convert the cars they have into temporary boats similar to those used Chevrolets by Cuban refugees crossing Florida.
They then take selfies with French border guards. Then they grab some oil drums from the nearby Jungle camp and attach them to their wheel arches. Next, they take some wood planks out of the Jungle Camp and give them to the migrants as oars.
Clarkson assures anyone who does it, that they will get a job at his Cotswolds farm when harvest comes around.
Halfway through they sink before being saved by UK Border Force vessels. They are then allowed safe passage to Folkestone where they will be free to travel to Croydon.
A triumphant Clarkson declares: ‘Welcome to Britain, the softest touch . . . in the wuurlld!’
That was the bombshell. He bids them goodbye. . .