OLD Mrs Fotheringham, now, she declares she would never belong to any party other than the DA. One doesn’t just vote for a party, understand, you have to belong to it. Indeed, Mrs Fotheringham is so old and wrinkled up she remembers belonging to the United Party, which no mortal being remembers other than she; if you want to know about the United Party you have to click it on Google and up will come Jan Smuts 1945. But in sociological fact the party that Mrs F really really belongs to until this very day is the Progressive Party 1968, ancestor of the DA, bearing the same genes. Click it on Google and see what the PP decided in 1968.
Mrs Fotheringham is an old-time Prog; I mean she believes one should be fair to everybody, and everybody should know their place, not just Africans. This belief she declares with a motherly smile. Afrikaners can only be Caucasian and she still calls them Nats and they too should know their place and not be so inhumane about Africans. A black man born in England can’t be called an Englishman but a Colonial Briton, similarly a white person born in Africa can’t be called an African because that’s reserved for black persons; she/he can be called an Afrikaner but that is reserved for people of Dutch descent, whencetofore we of British descent who speak English round here see ourselves as Natal English. All this is self-evident. Progs know their axioms.
Then after a pause and some genteel reflection Mrs F further declares in a sad sort of motherly way she wouldn’t mind too much if all our Indians found a place to know somewhere else, except of course the Singhs who run the Curry Den at the Umbilo Mall, but then they’re