They are not... native.
And like syphilis, buggery, treachery and the Opera, they came to us by way of Italy.
Or was it Portugal? No matter.
I don't like them, and I hope you don't either.
They ripen at our expense and grow fat, absorbing our sun's rays, taking nutrients from our soil.
They are laughing at us, even as we ask the sandwich bloke for a BLT - but without the lettuce, which comes from Welsh Patagonia; the Danish bacon; the unspeakably alien tomato. No butter please! - it's from Denmark. Nor the bread, which is baked in Wales or somewhere.
And the sandwich bloke himself - you may think: tattoos; moron; mouth breather; can barely speak and certainly cannot write his own language; cannot count up to 10 - has to be echt English!
But I tell you, only 12,000 years ago or less, his ancestors in the Pyrenees or in the Ukraine broke out of the refuges in which they had dodged the last Ice Age and swarmed across Europe!
With their onions, berets and bicycles.
God help us.