Yesterday I finally had time to browse the record of UK based fascists otherwise known as the BNP membership list. Fittingly, much of it reads like an elegy to an England that never existed for nine-tenths of the people who lived there: tea with the vicar and village fetes, cricket whites and croquet on the lawn. A member of Yorkshire CCC, name change by deed poll to Placidly, won't be renewing (unhappy with an Excalibur order), ex-serviceman, former proof reader (BA Language and Literature). Like minor characters in a Graham Greene novel, the respectable face of the party lives in the twilight, refugees from the surrounding world; even their hobbies are anachronisms - freshwater fishing and classic Ford cars, amateur radio and church crawling, medieval longbow, knitting, cross-stitching and "helping people in need" (though presumably this excludes foreigners, blacks and those Muslims in the corner shop).
Skimming down, there was a house four streets away from me, a former councillor for South Shields (Progressive, ironically), email addresses proclaiming englishloyal and sexymisscrosby, a businessman (international, but then who isn't nowadays?), 73 Squadron Osnabruck and, more frequently, proof of entitlement seen (not only foreigners sponging of the state, then).
How to beat the BNP, squalled the odious Hazel Blears in the following morning's Guardian. Judging by the state of their members, they're doing a pretty good job of it themselves.