We’re barely 14 hours into the long-predicted invasion by Bulgarian and Romanians (the Bulgarivasion, if you will) and England, our England, is already sinking under the weight of this insidious Euro-virus. I awoke this morning to a scratching noise from my kitchen. I gingerly pulled back the fridge, disturbing a family of Bulgarians who were chewing through the skirting board and having a large litter of babies that would be a burden on the state. I managed to kill a couple with a tennis racquet, but the rest scuttled away under the floorboards where I can still hear them learning to say the words: “Give me your wallet, English” and “I want benefits and a castle”

A further investigation revealed  Romanian droppings in my food cupboards and some nibbled wiring. I went upstairs to my neighbour to see if he had a trap I could borrow, but when he opened the door, he looked utterly different from the suave, sophisticated traffic warden I knew. Gone were his River Island matching casuals and in their place, ill-fitting stonewashed jeans and a twenty year-old jumper. He met my befuddled gaze with a brown-toothed evil grin and hissed.  ”Zdrasti, angliiski prase!” He’d gone Bulgarian!

In an instant he lunged for the pen in my top pocket and begin filling in a claim for Disability Benefit for him and three non-existent children, with his free hand he pointed to his mouth and then asked me: “Money, food please”. Acting on instinct, I grabbed the Evening Standard out of my back pocket, opened it to the Situations Vacant pages and shoved them in his face. The creature roared back in terror, clawed at the pages and bellowed in abject fear, but it was too late. In seconds, his body disintegrated into a pile of ash at my feet. Typical Eastern Europeans: always leaving a mess.

I’ve boarded myself into my flat and as I write, am repelling Bulgarians in the street below by throwing soap and long-range weather forecasts as them. We only have ourselves to blame for this invasion. The clues were always there. Look at the Bulgarians and Romanians already amongst us!

Great Uncle Bulgaria: an elderly man, with a walking stick and glasses. Unable to work and clearly infirm, he’s come over here just to be a massive drain on the NHS and the benefits system. His supporters are quick to point out that he is public spirited as he ‘collects litter’. To which I say: it’s just this kind of undercutting by foreign labourers that is depriving British men, women and Wombles of work.

Fulham striker, Dimitar Berbatov is another Bulgarian displaying all the despicable traits of his fellow countrymen. In match commentary he’s openly referred to as ‘a poacher’: no surprise there! And, despite being born overseas, he’s somehow managed to wangle a job IN THE UK where he gets paid £130,000 a WEEK for NINETY MINUTES WORK!! What about our children, our elderly, our elderly children and our brave boys in Afghanistan (OK, they’re living there and many of the locals don’t want them there, but that’s COMPLETELY different).

Bela Lugosi: a Romanian who PLAYED VAMPIRES. Sucking the blood out of the innocent. If that isn’t a metaphor for what they do to Britain, I don’t know what is. Nadia Comeneci: perfect 10s in her gymnastic routine in the 1980 Olympics. And yet, AT THE SAME TIME, she was clearing over £800 a week claiming she was blind and had no legs.

Wake up, Britain! We must fight…and…Oh God….no…it’s happening….I’m going Bulgarian…I…Kŭde moga da polucha obezshteteniya?  (Where do I claim benefits?)