From buns to bins, the true tests for migrants

Avery senior civil servant happened to walk past my house last Thursday carrying a folder marked “Confidential” which allowed me to get a good look at the Government’s ideas for an alternative system to points-based immigration.

It seems that anyone who can show they are directly descended from the Earl of Grantham will automatically be let into the country. Everyone else will have to satisfy two conditions before they are even considered: EITHER they must have at least £5,000 with them and also an item for the Antiques

Roadshow which has been in their family for at least four generations, OR they must have a certificate from three top online dating sites declaring them to be eligible.

Every newly admitted immigrant must bring his or her own highvisibility jacket. In the first year of residence in this country they will not be allowed to travel on Southern Rail (to avoid further overcrowding) and will only be permitted to remain if they have accumulated 750 “likes” on Facebook, passed a stiff exam about storylines in The Archers and demonstrated that they know which recycling wheelie bin is the correct one for plastic and glass.

The authorities will be looking out for those whose skills are particularly required. These include Olympicstandard team pursuit cycling and a proven ability to bake 24 identical iced buns, while having a good grasp of innuendo. Those who have achieved a Grade V in the tango or cha-cha-cha will also be viewed favourably.

The catering industry is desperate to recruit more skilled pork pullers, olive oil drizzlers and courgette flower stuffers from the EU. There are also vacancies for tin miners and practising genealogists. Local government requires many more grievance development officers, risk assessors and graduates with a good degree in applied empathy. Leading NHS medical authorities have united to condemn next week’s threatened Patients’ Day of Action, but the organisers maintain that, if others in the NHS are allowed to protest, they don’t see why patients can’t have a go as well.

Proposed disruptive activities include showing up at the wrong reception area for their hospital appointments, having forgotten some of the digits from their 10-digit NHS numbers, and giving inaccurate dates of birth. Mr Leslie M Arbuthnott (dodgy knee), a ringleader of the militant patients, said they will be delaying lifts by holding the doors open for late arrivals and then pressing the buttons for all floors.

“If the Health Secretary still refuses to talk to us in a constructive manner and address our concerns, we will demonstrate our very real anger by wilfully misunderstanding the numbered ticket system for blood tests,” Mr Arbuthnott warned.

Mrs Ivy Pointer (funny turns and general aches and pains), a well-known patient activist, will be co-ordinating the action when the protesters rearrange the chairs in the waiting area of outpatient clinics. Meanwhile, inpatients intend to smudge their wristbands or write slogans on them and then get out of bed and engage in an hour of aimless wandering in the wards.

In a statement, Mr Arbuthnott said: “We are reluctant to endanger the sanity of junior doctors and hospital administrators, but our voices must be heard. We are prepared to escalate our action and declare a Statin-Free Week. If that doesn’t bring Jeremy Hunt to his senses, a number of in-patients are prepared to walk out of the building en masse in their hospital gowns and have a smoke.” It seems that “slow television” is catching on fast. After the success of BBC Four’s two-hour broadcast of a bus tour of the Yorkshire Dales without commentary, the channel will be airing shows featuring James May, the former Top

Gear presenter, dismantling household objects and putting them together again. These new objects will include a Kenwood Chef food mixer and a Hornby train set.

I have a few ideas for other series in the slow genre. The first is to show that classic test card with the little girl at the blackboard with her toy monkey. It would stay just like that for 59 minutes as the suspense built up to an almost unbearable level, and then suddenly, with her piece of chalk, the girl would write a random interesting word on the blackboard.

The project which I’m really excited about and which I am hoping to pitch to the BBC very shortly is a show called Strictly Wallflower. For a whole hour we would watch a group of glammed-up men and women seated on a row of chairs, hardly moving, except for the occasional fidget. All of them would look demurely hopeful.