Speaking, as we were, of the Guardian’s imperious opinionator Polly Toynbee, madam’s latest outpouring finds her reflecting – if that’s quite the right word – on the burden of her own elevated status. The woes, as it were, of the upper-and-upper-middle-class socialist:

Wait for it.

Update, via the comments:

We’re also told that, as a child, Dear Polly “envied” her much poorer friends, with their “cheerful,” noisy, and rather small dwellings, which had “ever-open front doors.” Though, alas,

As a way to conjure gravitas and fish for sympathy, it’s a bold approach.

The point of the piece quoted above, a long and rambling extract from Ms Toynbee’s forthcoming memoir, is far from clear – as is Polly’s way. However, the gist seems to be that class is a terrible, terrible thing, and that our author, a descendant of the Ninth Earl of Carlisle, and whose life is cushioned by multiple homes, here and overseas, and a well-into-six-figure income, is every bit as much a victim of it. What with her fretting so much.

For brevity’s sake, I’ll attempt to paraphrase: ‘I have never known, and will never know, anything approaching poverty. My lack of diligence, or indeed competence, has never been a significant setback, on account of my class and privilege. Therefore, you should listen to me and do exactly as I say.’

Again, bold. Must be that “painful self-awareness.”

In the comments, further thoughts occur.

Update 2:

Regarding Polly’s purported envy of the humble and downtrodden, Mike D asks,

Which reminded me of the reliably ludicrous George Monbiot, a man who agonises over the “isolating” effects of disposable income, double glazing, and TV remote controls, and who believes that we – thee and me – should imitate the peasants of southern Ethiopia, where homes are made of leaves and packing cases, and where, despite Stone Age sanitation and alarming child mortality, “the fields crackle with laughter.”

For Dear Polly, mingling with the working class is somewhat similar, I should think.

Oh, and Mr Monbiot, lest we forget, was schooled at Stowe, an imposing boarding school in Buckinghamshire, where annual fees are a mere £36,000.

At which point, readers may discern the makings of a pattern.

Consider this an open thread. Share ye links and bicker.