Readers will doubtless be intrigued by the “foraged” food – i.e., carrots and leaves, served repeatedly – plus the unheated rooms, the lack of running water, and the whole shitting-in-a-barrel thing. For a mere £900 a night, one can’t expect luxuries like plumbing, protein, or the prospect of heat.

And for those inclined to squint, there may be a rustic charm to things being a loose approximation of what is claimed. And so, just as unheated fishing huts with no plumbing or sanitation are framed as “luxury,” seemingly random objects on a plate are hailed as meals, as “artisanal” and “delicious.”

A man who is referred to in the German media, somewhat surreally, as a woman, a she-person, despite being identified via the very male genetic material left at the scenes of his crimes.

A Campus & Community news bulletin – in which the word “Indigenous” is used many, many times – tells us that Ms Schenandoah will be helping students “bring forth their own potential” via “a wide range of healing modalities,” including the aforementioned tuning forks.

Those touched by Ms Schenandoah’s uncanny powers will learn that the forest is “a relative, not a resource,” and that birds “sing in the morning because they’re happy.” Quality stuff.

Armed with such arcane skills, Ms Schenandoah – whose job description is curiously vague – will provide “a safe space where Indigenous students can cope with stress and trauma.”

Yes, the trauma of attending one of the more expensive and statusful colleges in America, with its annual fees of $70,000, its 920 acres of rolling lawns, its 20 tennis courts, and a capacious ice-skating pavilion.

“I am assumed male nearly always by strangers,” says Ms Kuttner, which, frankly, seems a tad implausible. We’re also told that perceiving her as a man, not a woman, requires “effort,” an effort that is expected by Ms Kuttner – which would appear closer to the truth, if not entirely consonant with the previous claim.

“I don’t like when politics is focussed on identity,” says Ms Kuttner. While informing the nation, via YouTube videos, about her own list of identities, her pansexual appetites, her PTSD, her variable pronouns, and the need to “look at pretty much every piece of policy from a gender-diverse lens.”

This “indigenous knowledge,” the particulars of which are elusive and treated rather coyly, will, we’re told, be “elevated” – presumably, above its station – while “Eurocentric western science” – or, you know, science – will be “de-centred and scrutinised” for any residual wickedness. Any oppressive taint. And hey, what better use could there be of other people’s time and money?

Apparently, we’re to be told what reality is by people who think they’re witches.

As these are terribly modern, immensely caring witches, Ms Howard was banned from the organisation’s Facebook page and from the website of the British Druid Order on grounds of being “unequivocally transphobic.”

Thereby denying Ms Howard access to the arcane knowledge of “seers and healers,” along with the opportunity to purchase oracle cards, audio recordings of spells and invocations, and “hymns to the divine feminine.” Oh, and guides to coping with stress by wrapping a thick blanket around your head.

When asked by his wife whether this behaviour is a fetish, he replied, somewhat coyly, “Maybe so.” Our facilitator of sensitivity also tells us that he feels “a lot of excitement” when buying himself ladies’ shoes, particularly “shoes with high heels.” Indeed, Mr Alme boasts an extensive collection.

Because wheelchair and heels, obviously.

The idea that one’s bizarre and rather elaborate sexual kinks – including wheelchairs and cross-dressing – probably shouldn’t be inflicted on random strangers, on work colleagues, and on one’s own children, of which he is the father of two, appears to have escaped him.

Stripped of contrivance, I’m assuming the above is a roundabout admission that, on average, people who find marriage an alien concept and much too demanding, and who opt instead for transient partners, fatherless children, and unstable relationship trash fires, tend to do less well in life, along with their offspring. Though I’m not sure why the response should be to blame those who get their shit together, marry, and raise children more successfully.

If little Don’t-Know-Who-My-Dad-Is is starting fires at school and looks destined for a life of delinquency and crime, this is not obviously the fault of the happily married Mr and Mrs Jefferson and their two non-fire-starting children. And no amount of chest-puffing about “heteropatriarchy,” “unequal power relations” and “white supremacy” seems likely to alter that fact.

While Dr Strouse is revelling in how exotic and ethnic his classroom sounds, are his students narrowing their options in the job market? Unless it turns out that in the real world every employer wants their company’s memos and public literature, and their customer interactions, to include lots of double negatives, unfinished words, mispronunciation, and mangled tenses. Oh, and aks instead of ask. That always looks professional.

And let’s not forget this farce at the Writing Centre at the University of Washington, Tacoma, the stated goal of which is to “help writers write and succeed in a racist society” – a feat to be accomplished by dismissing spelling and grammar as “racist” and “an unjust language structure.” And whose director, Dr Asao Inoue, took over a year to write a simple, 500-word press release.

Apparently, students with brown skin needn’t be articulate, verbally self-possessed, or precise in their thoughts. And that ungrammatical job application, the one enlivened with incomprehensible sentences and lots of inventive spelling, will do just fine. And by the time the real-world consequences of this “social justice” posturing become difficult to avoid, Dr Inoue will have been paid – and will be merrily exploiting the next batch of suckers.

And so we arrive at a familiar question: If you wanted to harm the prospects of minority students, to diminish their chances in life, while congratulating yourself and being applauded by your peers, what would you do differently?

I wonder if dear Nora has ever paused to consider what stolen cars are very often used for – besides, say, joyriding and endangering other road users. And whether those doing the stealing might often belong to criminal gangs, whose anti-social activities spill over into other areas. Say, smash-and-grabs, and forms of liveliness requiring a getaway car.

Or, as Michael Rothe of the Canadian Finance and Leasing Association points out, “A large majority of thefts are actually being orchestrated by organised crime rings, who use the profits to finance illegal activities like drug and gun trafficking, and human smuggling.”

But hey, no biggie.

Perhaps it would be ungentlemanly to wish on dear Nora some first-hand experience of the crimes she so merrily diminishes when inflicted on someone else, someone who isn’t her. Though it is, I think, tempting.

It’s perhaps worth noting that Transport For London has a staff training centre, complete with fake station and platform, and “suicide pits,” where employees learn how to manage what are euphemistically referred to as “passengers taken unwell” or “disruptions to the tube service.” Events that occur on average once or twice a week.

As someone who’s experienced first-hand the soul-withering properties of attempts to travel in London – and would not care to repeat it – there is, I think, an unhappy irony. It’s also worth noting that TfL, supported by London’s leftist mayor, Sadiq Khan, has been quite eager to forbid adverts on the tube for foods deemed insufficiently healthy and life-affirming, including artisanal cheeses.

It is, needless to say, slightly surreal to see supposedly serious productions sharing behind-the-scenes footage, in which we’re invited to admire the craft of the set decorators, production designers, costume designers, etc., and their detailed, punctilious recreations of the period, while the people wearing the costumes and striding about the sets are demographically bizarre. As if we’re not supposed to notice.

Despite his prodigious criminal activity, often repeated in the same locations, Mr Koko – complete with bicycle and polka-dot dress – proved difficult to apprehend. Possibly due to the public being told by both the police and the media that the person engaging in such activities, and for whom they should be alert, was somehow a woman.

And it is, I think, worth noting that the nation’s capital, where these dramas of “resistance” unfold, has in my lifetime gone from a native white-majority city, over 90%, to a native white-minority one, around 35%. Yet it would seem that even this dramatically downsized white devil population is, for some, still too burdensome and oppressive. A cause of “collective trauma.”

See, I bring you the wonders of the world.

The ladies’ act of presenting themselves as the opposite sex, albeit with extra steps, was not, it seems, deemed affirming by those who like to present themselves as the opposite sex.

“My gender isn’t your costume,” said this chap here, a self-styled “eGirl, but like, with a penis or whatever.” Other indignant rumblings included accusations of deception and fraud, the inevitable “transphobia,” and demands that the ladies in question “don’t get in our space.” Another bewigged gentleman denounced the “masquerade” as “disgusting.”