When the term ‘Freshie’ was invented in the seventies by my great uncle Bit Senior II, it became synonymous with the greasy moustached, shalwar kameez wearing, curry smelling brothers from the native land.

They were a law unto themselves for a while and embarrassed the hell out of the rest of us. Yeah, we loved them deep down but a part of us just wanted to ‘send them back where they came from’.

If they weren’t perving at passers-by in the town centre they were always on the phone to the cousins back home telling them what a bunch of muppets your family was.

But how things have changed. A freshie is now more respected than the ‘British born’.

Yes, I said it and in ten years time you can come back and say I was right and pay homage to my prediction written here in these very pages for the first time.

Sorry people you are now no longer so unique. You were king for a while but now your distant cousin has more sense than you ever will. In fact I would go as far as to say I would rather be a freshie than a British born because ain’t no Freshie tried to stitch me up every time my back is turned.

Brother freshie has some level of honour left in him.

The new term to be wary of is ‘British born’ - it stands for ignorant spoilt brat with as much style as a monkey in a tuxedo. The British born causes more trouble than a freshie in an underwear shop.

Why on earth should we feel so privileged just because we were born here? At least the Freshie realises the value of his citizenship.

The British born has no honour and his god is Paysah (money). And he or she will concoct many a scheme to make more of the dreaded pound even if it means stepping on everyone else.

On top of all that the British born is either a groomer or terrorist...sometimes both.

It’s good to be fresh.