Beware ginger people

We are having to watch the gingas apparently. Keep ‘em peeled!

gingerA shock analysis seems to show that a lot of the ‘white’ converts to the branch of terrorism inappropriately branding itself as Islamic, are gingas. Yes, they have ginger hair.

And, those who convert to normal Islam from previously Christian backgrounds are … you guessed it, gingas. Mostly ginger women, in fact.

But why? Is it that ginger women are embarrassed by their freckles, general pasty appearing skin, constantly turning red or actually burning in the slightest bit of sunshine, and inability to control their involuntary outbursts of “Ricky!”? Maybe they feel the need to hide behind the burqa in order that their ginganess remains unseen. Hey, it also protects them from the sun, which, of course, is what it was originally designed for. Well, that and sandstorms. We don’t get many sandstorms in the UK, so hiding gingas must be the new cultural appropriation of this fine garment.

Now. I am treading a bit carefully whilst writing this. My beautiful, glamorous, tennis ace partner in life is a ginga. Her violent tendencies with bouncing tennis balls violently off my head, or launching a racket at me with a “You cannot be serious!” shout have put me in hospital four or five times … a month.

OK, artistic licence. My life partner is not violent in the slightest towards me. Indeed, I sort of believe that should my life ever be actually under threat (you know, like a rabid Radio Caroline fan trying to run me over with his Mobility Scooter), that I would be completely protected and safe.

So, is my loyal, affectionate and lovely partner all these things owing to being a ginga? Does this mean that gingas (well, apart from the mental terrorist ones) are affectionate and likely to give people like me (not a ginga) a reason for living? Am I attracted to the ginganess? Hmmm. I think it’s the bigger picture, but maybe gingas have a far more intense nature than ‘normals’.

Anyway. Turn on your telly. Watch the adverts. This is something I rarely do, watching everything in delay and usually spooling through the commercial break right up to the next part’s buffer. But, if you analyse those in the adverts, what do you notice?

Gingas. Yep, gingas. Gingas dominate adverts on the TV. Indeed, a bloke I know, (Yes, I know gingas, sorry, don’t think badly of me) makes a fortune from being an actor in adverts. His voice, if his part is a speaking one, is usually dubbed, but his face and gingerness features there prominently. Apparently, gingas ‘test well’ and this is why he gets paid thousands of Euros for a day’s work. Not that this causes me to envy ginger people or anything.

Now then. I have a black and white cat. This despite not being a postman called Pat. He’s mainly black, but with a white front and underbelly. I like him. He is affectionate and fun. Except when he thinks its funny to poke me in the middle of the night if he passes and sees part of me exposed under the duvet.

However, I discovered something the other day when he was stretched out basking in the sunshine. In the sunlight he isn’t black at all. He’s only bloomin’ ginger!

Does this mean there’s a secret ginga inside all of us?

I think we should be told.

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