Patronising Polarity

PATRONISING POLARITY

What type of world is it where multi billionaire heirs to the throne, wearing £800 blouses offer solace to people in deprived areas who have suffered at the hands of rioters? Am I the only person to feel the irony churning out of the chimney like pollution out of a badly fitted exhaust?

It is surely the equivalent of the zoo keeper sympathising witht the elephant in the cage. It is just not possible to escape cause and effect. Our Monarchy, Dickensian Pantomime, spraying privilege like a garden sprinkler, is in no small part responsible for the discontent in our inner cities.

Do I condone the rioting? Perhaps not, much of it was opportunistic theft. Do I condemn it? What right do we, in our middle class homes, have to sit on high and condemn people sentenced by architects and social polarity to live in disgusting estates, if they protest in a manner considered disgraceful by the Daily Mail?

It reminds me of the diners in Dr Zhivago watching thepre revolutionary Bolshevik bread marchers passing by, and mocking that they will "sing better after the revolution"

The youth leader working on the estates, the GP with a Peckham Practice, the Case Worker visiting the people in the area, these people may have a right to comment on the situation and perhaps to console those who have suffered.

Please don't tell me that the lah de dahs who fly in for a voyeristic visit and photo opportunity, and then return home for a Polo Match and a Pimms have any right to be there or comment.

There can be no doubt that social alienation is enhanced to a significant degree by the idea that wealth and power is conferred by birth and privilege, and not by sweat and grind. That the quintessential upper class monarchs to be, should pay a token visit to an area that must look as familiar to them as  Avitar, is patronising and provocative, not soothing and helpful.

JOB NO 1 THAT I WOULD LIKE

Up the stairs, down the corridor, past the cafeteira, in a little attic deep in Swansea, in the DVLA estate, is a happy man indeed. He has a wonderful job and he enjoys it every day. Its importance knows no bounds. His job is to return licence application forms, to people who need a new Driving Licence, if their signature has crept out of the prescribed box. He holds on to the incorrectly signed forms for 2  weeks, and then with a gleeful smile he sends them back to the recipients who think they have received their new licence.
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