Over the Top?

Much hand-wringing at the state of UK border control this last week, with illegals apparently sneaking in unchecked. Makes a change then, from the former Labour policy of welcoming them in with open arms, a nice bouquet, a National Insurance number and a sack full of benefits, so in a way it's a step in the right direction.

But here's the thing I don't get. There are rules of entry, surely? And - let me get this clear in my head - if you fall short of the requirement we are not obliged to let you in? Or am I missing something here, because if you try and get into a night-club the bouncers, sorry doormen, will not let you in unless they want to. Those doormen are big, intimidating types all right, but on the UK borders we have policemen with guns! In fact the state of dress of the average airport policeman suggests a full-blown alien-alert, SWAT team, with itchy digits fondly fingering triggers.

But actually, you only really see PC SWAT on the inside, hovering around the duty-frees and menacing the airport branch of W.H. Smith. It's all well and good policing those heading for the Costa Blanca - and fair play to them for that - but entry into the UK is normally devoid of anybody other than a few bored Border Agency staff in ill-fitting, one-size uniforms. Our national security appears to be no better than me putting this around my garden:

Well, I used to have a fence like that and a fat lot of good it did me; the German Shepherd next door always used to jump over it and shit on my lawn... and his dog was just as bad. (Ba-da-bing, folks!)

This is no good at all. No, no, no. When I'm king I'm building a proper fence all the way round the United Dingdom. It will be strong and tall and menacing, with frequent command posts housing snipers. It will be electrified and fringed with a moat and a minefield on the outside. And it will have spikes on top - like this:

Le's see that bloody dog get in my garden kingdom now!