The tale of how I, Tommy Robinson Crusoe, ended up marooned on this barren island is a long one. I can only hope that keeping this record will serve as a warning for all who seek to defend traditional values from rabid Islamists.
Tuesday, October 8th
After my resignation as leader of the EDL, I decided to take a good old-fashioned British holiday abroad. Safely on the flight, I asked for some pork scratchings, only to be told that they didn’t stock those on Ryanair. Immediately I sensed the evil presence of radical Islam, withholding pig-based products from honest ethnic British people like myself. I then spotted a Muslim ‘person’, and attempted to alert the pilot, but his complacent refusal to acknowledge the threat forced me to wrest the controls from him and attempt to pilot our plane safely through the turbulence of the failed multicultural experiment…it was then that we crashed, no doubt in a PC attempt to make me look like the terrorist.
Whatever the reason, I am here now and I will maintain constant vigil so that this proud but totally uninhabited island will never again be taken over by Sharia Law. On the first day I immediately formed the Island Defence League and declared myself leader. I also found a football called Wilson on the shore, and recruited him to my noble cause. A good day.
Wednesday, October 9th
Today was one of struggle and hardship but also of hope. After hacking down all the vegetation so that no tree-hugging liberals could hide from me and smashing all the dirty foreign fruit to a pulp, I was faced with a grave predicament: I realised that I had no source of food. It was as I pondered on the implications of this, looking out to sea, that I saw a movement in the water. Did my eyes deceive me? No. It was a human figure.
He dragged himself onto the beach and said his name was Alan. It turned out that he too had survived the plane crash.
I explained that I had made it mine and Wilson’s top priority to defend the island against a fully armed Taliban invasion, but he reacted sceptically for some reason.
“Sounds a bit unlikely,” he said.
“Oh really? Look!” I pointed dramatically. “See, they’ve even built a mosque here!”
“I think that’s a volcano,” he replied.
That naive fool.
Thursday, October 10th
It became clear to me that Alan was a complacent bleeding heart liberal who couldn’t bring himself to recognise the dangers to our Christian way of life, so I was forced to mobilise against him too. The IDL’s first protest was held right by Alan’s shelter, coincidentally built near to the ‘volcano’ he seemed to love so much.
“Alan, Alan, Alan! Out, out, out!” I shouted, feeling the thrill of having morality on my side.
“I would do if you hadn’t crashed the bloody plane, you twit,” he replied. “Now shut up, I’m trying to sleep.”
Imagine my horror as Wilson leapt into the shelter. I watched helplessly as he bludgeoned Alan to death. Yes, I may have inadvertently encouraged Wilson with my chants. Some might even say that by holding Wilson in my hands and using him to bounce Alan’s head off the rock floor repeatedly I am equally culpable,
but let there be no doubt that Wilson’s hooliganism left me disgusted by the shift in the IDL’s behaviour.
“Wilson,” I said. “This was meant to be a peaceful protest. I’m afraid your extreme views are proving damaging to the noble cause of forced repatriation of Islamists. I feel I have no choice but to step down as leader of the IDL.”
As I stared back into that football hooligan’s blank, expressionless face, I felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu…