BY DOMINIC WIGHTMAN

The Hamas-Israel war has created a febrile atmosphere in Britain, at least on social media. The usual suspects on both sides are there for all to see. On the one side, the extremist Islamists – al–Muhajiroun types marching with Caabu and Hizb ut Tahrir numbnuts supported by weird, anti-Semitic allies like Nick Griffin and those Queer for Palestine wannabe building divers. On the other, the ‘it’s civil war time’ Powellists who believe that all Muslim immigration is part of some sinister hijrah morphing into jihad and that we have been invaded whilst our governments have been asleep at the wheel.

At times like these I am reminded of the humble Weebleman, a 1970’s Airfix toy that you could lob around the room and it would always end up standing. As a baby of that decade, I assure you they are wonderful. They evoke Kipling’s If – ‘If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs’ – and right now we need many more of them in our public life and institutions, not less.

Of course, it would be better if all the emoted stayed at home and swept up leaves or watched football. They are achieving nothing by marching or wailing. Their air is hot. Such was Hamas’ wickedness, people are rightly riled and have every right to exhale but the problem is opportunists seize the opportunity. Meanwhile marches for the evil ones attract useful idiots. Our airwaves become dominated by the shrill and I-told-you-so brigade to the point where the oppressed Jewish community – to whom we should all be listening – have their voices drowned out and feel even less at home here.

There are few weeblemen types in existence these days which is a great shame as, while they smashed around the room, they could disperse the Hamas rallies, return the hostages, nail Hamas, press mute on the Powellists, give the supine, penetrated Met a wake-up slap around the cheeks and still end up standing.

If only there were more weeblemen in Britain, we’d have eradicated extreme Islamism from this country decades ago rather than trying to talk the hotheads out of their madness as still happens, ridiculously and expensively, to this day. We should have taken the Northern Cypriot line on extremist imams – get out of line even once and foxtrot oscar to the airport. Send then hush all extremists and plotters abroad (along with their traitorous lawyers) if they dare try to radicalise or terrorise us. Sack the Hizb ut Tahrir NHS doctors and nurses, terminate their state school teacher contracts, remove their pharmacy licenses and FCA registrations. It’s not complicated, it just takes smashing the room up a bit then landing on your feet, weebleman style.

On Friday mornings at silly o’clock I go to a local café for a brew (and, don’t tell the wife, but occasionally indulge in a full English gutbuster). There is a bearded fellow there with a backpack who looks like a suicide bomber and, at first glance, fits all the stereotypes. I know him very well now. I asked him if he is a suicide bomber, as one does to engage in light conversation. He’s called Hamza. He comes from Tunisia and works as a nurse in the local hospital. Last month I asked him about the Hamas raids and he was clear, “they are all mad”. He has since made public (in the café, where he speaks very loudly and eloquently) his detestation of the fact that Tunisia was IS’ number one supplier of recruits in Syria. Hamza’s plan was to raise enough cash in England to be able to return to Tunisia and sit on the beach while his family ran a guest house. He can’t be bothered now. His dream has evaporated thanks to a love of Arsenal and a Mercedes bought on the never-never. He loves being in England, his mates are here, his new family is here, his dog is here and he’d miss too much from here if he left. He’s certainly not part of some hijrah/jihad, clandestine or otherwise. Few are – those that are need exposing and uniting with their beloved ummah in some godawful hellhole like Afghanistan or Somalia. The extremists love to see opponents getting shrill and excitable – what they fear the most is secularism, the kind that won over Hamza.

The Chinese students we are now turning away in droves from this country for fear of them being spies – again, where are the weeblemen? These Chinese youths bring in useful money, they get to love Britain actually living here rather than hating us theoretically because some jackboot Commie back in China says they have to. Take out their spies – we’re far better at that than they are – and stick a one way ticket to Beijing on their credit card.

The same for Russian cash. Why on earth are we filling the coffers of Turkey and the Emirates with Russian wealth, much of it unrelated to Putin or his cronies? Their wealth generates a great chunk of our wealth. London should be the magnet for it. The Turks and Emiratis can’t believe their luck as they chuckle at the old British Pirate gone soft.

Baby-friendly Weeblemen would never throw the baby out with the bathwater.

We do it too often these days.

From Weeblemen we must learn. Smash the room up a bit, sure, but always land upright to fight another day.

Dominic Wightman is Editor of Country Squire Magazine.