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.

For devotees of the farcical and grotesque, a spot of history:

In the following video, quoted above, Professor James O’Flannery concludes his lively, somewhat unorthodox three-part lecture series on the Chinese Revolution. Or, to borrow one of his chapter headings, Our Turn Fuck Up World.

Needless to say, given the subject matter, some dark turns are taken. Notable moments include an explanation of the inevitability of sociopathy in communism; the pivotal role of hysterically self-righteous adolescents; and a lesson in demented street signage. Readers may also detect some, shall we say, contemporary resonance. And do watch to the end.

Parts one and two.

The professor’s lectures on the French and Russian Revolutions, the latter in three parts, are also recommended.

How drunk you should be while watching them is entirely your own business.

Not ideal, really. || Niche dissonance detected. || Incoming. || Incoming 2. || Oh no, not the inevitable, again. || Shadow lag. || How to repel women, part 2. Previously. || Some pleasing trash removal. || Sexual display. || The progressive retail experience, parts 475, 476, 477, 478, and 479. || Quick test, no prep, no phoning a friend. || Leo lives in Portland. || On those vertical lines seen in nuclear explosion test footage. || Three of these are wrong, clearly. || Clackety-clack. || How to clean windows. || “Walking into random houses” for shits and giggles. What could possibly go wrong? And what has already gone wrong? || Today’s word is gaming. || Today’s other word is shenis. || She was affirmed. || And finally, further to this, another thread of adventures in UI design.

Should you be tempted, you can follow me on Twitter.

For newcomers and the nostalgic, some items from the archives:

Clown Quarter Contagion.

At Birmingham University, making white staff “feel uncomfortable” is a goal.

Not Boldly, Then.

On politically-corrected space exploration.

Your Failure To Enthuse Is Violence, Apparently.

Roy G Guzmán is oppressed by the “violence” of people not liking his poetry.

Also, open thread. Share ye links and bicker.

In the comments, pst314 shares an uplifting, utopian spectacle for Portland’s commuters.

What’s striking about such scenes, I think, is the eye-widening selfishness on display. Other passengers, other people, including children, are seemingly of no importance. Except, perhaps, as obstacles, or targets. And yet we’re told, often and at length, that those who repeatedly indulge in antisocial and criminal behaviour are creatures deserving of indulgence, and with whom we should empathise. As if the favour would ever be returned.

If you’ve watched the reality series Cops or Live PD, pathological selfishness is very much a staple, a defining attribute of the assorted misfits and predators. I remember one lengthy pursuit of thieves who’d robbed a store at gunpoint, terrorised its owner, and then fled the scene in a stolen car, and whose bid to escape did costly damage to other people’s property, and caused other road users to veer and crash, resulting in serious injury.

When finally apprehended, the thieves, themselves unharmed, were entirely unconcerned by the horror and destruction left in their wake, or the fact that it was all but miraculous that no-one had been killed. Instead, they were loudly indignant, as if they were the victims of the drama, heatedly objecting to the discomfort of handcuffs, and demanding to know why their phones had been confiscated. While, within earshot, injured children were being rushed to hospital.

It’s curious how those who find endless opportunities to declare their own altruism and compassion, and thereby signal their elevated status, are very often determined to excuse selfishness of a sociopathic kind and to perform remarkable contortions while doing so.

Such that, having been burgled, for instance – in the middle of the night, by people armed with carving knives – one should apparently sympathise with the bipedal vermin breaking into one’s home and driving off with one’s stuff – in one’s own car. And then, via incoherent prose in a national newspaper, fret about their wellbeing. Burglars being so deserving of our forbearance and goodwill, you see.

If readers are left somewhat puzzled by the piece in question, by Guardian contributor Anna Spargo-Ryan, this is understandable. Consistency doesn’t appear to be a priority, or indeed an option. What matters, it seems, is that Ms Spargo-Ryan is hailed by her progressive peers as a “beautiful person,” oozing, as she is, with infinite compassion. Albeit not so much for other local residents, also robbed in the night, most likely by the same criminal gang, and whose expectations of justice are deemed terribly proletarian and unsophisticated.

But then, ostentatious displays of sympathy for criminals – rather than for their numerous victims, and future victims – are much more statusful. And hey, that’s what matters.

As seen in the links above, the mental convolutions can be quite bizarre. If another illustration is needed, see also this stern moral lecture from the pages of Vice, in which we’re told, emphatically, that the people we should dislike and disdain, and indeed fear, are the ones who don’t feel entitled to rob us, or beat us insensible, or burn down our homes.