France’s win over Germany in the Euro 2016 semi-final last night led to wild celebrations on the streets of Dalston as French residents brought traffic to a standstill with an orgy of dismissive shrugging and cordon bleu cookery.
Mr Emile Bande-Gastrique, spokesman for the French community, stopped singing the Marseillaise long enough to say to the Mercury: ‘Vive la France! C’est merveilleux! C’est merveilleux, n’est-ce pas?!’
When we said no, he went all sulky and brooding. For a minute he even stopped force-feeding his goose, but then he shrugged with magnificent Gallic insouciance and said something that sounded like ‘Iceland’ before lighting a Gitane and stalking off to read a slim volume of philosophy. Wearing an artfully tied long scarf. And drinking pastis. While listening to La Vie en rose. Or whatever they get up to.
In a bar across Dalston, the borough’s only Welsh resident, Mr Bedwyr ap Cynddylan-Williams was comforting the borough’s only German resident, Herr Augustus Glüpp, the only way he knows how – with poetry. Mr Cynddylan-Williams was two-thirds of the way through Deaths and Entrances before Herr Glüpp final broke, crying ‘Haven’t I suffered enough, dummkopf?!’ and marching home to his collection of lederhosen and the poorly photographed amateur pornography for which his nation is so rightly famed.
And in Dalston’s most narcissistic neighbourhood, Portuguese fans celebrated their team’s qualification for the final by gazing deeply into their own reflections and kissing photographs of themselves in emulation of their hero, twinkle-toed tosspot Cristiano Ronaldo.
Elsewhere in the borough, England fans were being rubbish at football while eating chips.
In unrelated news: prestigious Dalston University has announced the opening of its brand new Department for the Study of Offensive National Stereotypes, with which it hopes to con thousands of pounds out of students not bright enough to do Media Studies.