“These wars have been flicking awful and left loads of us in something of a bind, and we’re not the only ones,” says 437-year-old migrant Bill. Like so many, this ruddy-faced short-arse and his wife were forced to throw what few possessions they could carry into a bag and head off with their four children to seek safety when war broke out in the town in which they have lived all their lives.
“I guess the thing that has surprised us so much has been the kindness of strangers. As we travelled across Europe we were greeted with charity and generosity wherever we went, and the republic of Great Britainshire has been no different. Your kindly pig lord in chief, David of Hameraman, has done everything he can help us swarmers settle into a comfortable existence where we feel valued and cared about, and not just another statistic that’s seen as a drain on local resources or an excuse for the collapse of the economy.”
Like so many, Bill Boe-Baggings was forced out of his home town when civil war pitted the forces of Rohan and Gondor against militant group Islamic Mordor (aka IM) – leaving the once famous valleys of Bree as nothing but a series of bombed out buildings, while the glory that was Minas Tirith looks more like Jaywick.
Now settled in Wivenhoe among a small community of migrants that come from the same part of foreignland, Bill feels that he has found a place he can call home and a community that is happy to welcome him.
Unfortunately, not all of Wivenhoe’s residents are quite so welcoming. Alan Milkcrate-Jones told The Watcher: “I ain’t happy about these hairy foots coming over here and doing the jobs that we can’t be arsed to do. Those houses should be given over to good old English scroungers, not these foreigns with their nice food coming over here and enriching our flaccid culture. It’s a bleeding disgrace.”