Rage Against The Myopic Classes

 

This is a picture of me looking intellectual and studious, so you know that everything which follows is 100% true and unbiased.

I like to write on the bus. It may seem like an unusual place to do anything that requires concentration, but provided Cardiff Bus Company has remembered to put on more than four buses, and I am therefore able to find a seat, I often manage to knock out a page or so. The bus is potentially a place free of distraction, where one can cocoon oneself in asocial productivity.

Potentially.

All too often, the cocoon is penetrated by the coarse, discordant racket of whatever disposable music the brainless arses of Britain have unquestioningly purchased this week at the behest of Radio 1, and now feel compelled to play to the rest of us through a zero-point-naught-watt phone speaker. When this happens, I stop writing, and instead spend the entire journey in a state of silent, coronary-inducing fury. Sometimes I quietly snap my biro over my knee and jam the two jagged ends into my ears in a desperate bid to block out Kanye West.

I loathe the sort of people that do this. I mean really loathe – and I know, in your heart, you do too. I’d go so far as to say that they need some kind of collective name, so that we can all direct our loathing more precisely. ‘Bastards’ would be good, but it’s a bit too broad.

The name should reflect the fact that these people are so dense, thoughtless and socially-unaware, that they either think it’s totally acceptable to pollute public spaces with their personal music preference, or they realise it’s unacceptable, but simply don’t care about anything other than the satisfaction of their own immediate desires.

I’d like to propose the name ‘The Myopic Classes’*.

The ‘Classes’ part is not something I’ve chosen carelessly. The class divide in Britain is alive and well, but it’s no longer based on wealth, status or breeding. The two-tier class system of today is based on education, empathy, social-awareness and civility. A stark divide exists between those who possess all of these faculties, and those who possess none of them. You can see it in some people’s eyes – two dispiriting windows into a mind devoid of all though and emotion, save for a burning sense of crass, hedonistic entitlement.

Sadly, I suspect that Britain probably doesn’t have the resources to educate every individual, and rehabilitate every community, to the level necessary for the eradication of the Myopic Classes. A psychotically optimistic Marxist might claim otherwise, but I’m a realist.

If anything, the situation is likely to get worse, not better. Already, for example, the government budget for free book programmes is being drastically reduced. This means that more undisciplined and culture-starved children will never get the opportunity to read for pleasure or enlightenment, as their feckless, Myopic parents squander the child benefit money on X-Factor phone-ins and Katie Price Signature Series Dignity Removers. It’s a cycle seemingly without end, and Britain is churning out vacuous morons at a frightening rate.

As you may be aware, I’m not a social historian. I couldn’t tell you how, why or when this divide occurred, but I trust the evidence of my eyes and my experience, and I can tell you without reservation that it exists. I’m sure you’ve noticed it yourself - unless you’re one of my mysterious readers in Malaysia, Brazil or Russia. In that case, I can only hope that you don’t have to deal with the knuckle-dragging zombies that most of us in Britain encounter on a daily basis. Who knows, perhaps Malaysia is a utopia of intellectualism and social enlightenment. Perhaps those lucky Malaysians have never even heard of N-Dubz.

The rest of us may not be able to relieve ourselves of the Myopic Classes, but perhaps we can relieve them of the tools with which they torture us. In a future post, I will bring together two seemingly unrelated subjects – social decline, and high-energy radio frequency weapons (HERF), with exciting implications for the future of noise pollution on public transport.

Yes, that’s right – I’m going to blow up some chav’s excrement-spewing phone with a homemade ray-gun.** Hurrah!

Has your writing schedule been affected by the Myopic Classes? Has some ignorant, foul-mouthed oik ever ruined your day in the pursuit of their own selfish agenda? Why not vent your entirely justified fury by leaving a comment?

 

* ‘Myopic’ essentially means short-sighted, unthinking and narrow-minded. Not knowing what ‘myopic’ means does not qualify you for membership of the Myopic Classes. Not caring probably does.

** ‘Chav’ is a piece of British slang, generally used in reference to exactly the kind of person I’ve spent this entire article describing. Feel free to borrow it for use in your country of origin. If you don’t have chavs in your country of origin, please tell me how you do it.