A 'primped up little Diva' US entertainer called Kelis Rogers, of whom most readers will never have heard, jumped the queue at a Spanish non-EU immigration desk and was allegedly abused by a man in the queue who spoke English. Something of a non-story, you would have thought. The little minx got her come-uppance.
Yet within hours the bumbling Mayor of London had written to the UK Border Agency under the misapprehension that the incident happened at Gatwick. Or Heathrow. The egregious Barbara Ellen in the Observer, under the strap 'Kelis reveals the face of casual British racism - the singer's experience of abuse should shame us all', demonstrates how journalists should never let the facts get in the way of a good story; the English-speaking man in the non-EU queue was certainly not British, but what the heck. He spoke English. And he was a man. Good enough.
As for the conceit of our little Miss (and at 32 to be frank we're into Hogget territory here, if not quite Mutton) in imagining she's entitled to jump a queue, not a word. Airports have a finely tuned sense of etiquette; you're either a VIP, or you're not. They decided Kelis Rogers was not. Live with it. And until immigration control comes up with a lane for 'Non-EU Victims of Western Colonial Oppression Who Think They're Important' there's just one queue for all us white and black folk together.