For some lucky and rich people who describe themselves as Left-wing, one of the worst things about free markets is that they have given the oiks the freedom to enjoy the pleasures that were previously restricted to their betters. A real “socialist” state would provide the lower orders with more suitable goods: perhaps they would be allowed to see People Like Us with nice vowels do Shakespeare—only matinees, mind; wouldn’t want the unwashed sitting too close by in the evenings.
This piece by the legendary Liz Jones—is she a creation of Craig Brown? we should be told—exemplifies that attitude perfectly. Under the headline “IF ONLY WE’D HAD GREEN CUSTARD WHEN I MARCHED WITH THE MINERS”, ex-Communist Jones praises Leila Deen, the eco-warrior who slimed the Business Secretary Peter Mandelson. I reproduce the best bit of the article here, so you don’t have to visit the Daily Maily Website:
I was about to board a Virgin Atlantic flight from Heathrow to LA a couple of weeks ago.
I asked the woman at the check-in desk how full the plane was. “Rammed.” How many children are near me? “Ooh, quite a few infants.”
As I only had a seat in economy, and didn’t want to spend 11 hours being made more deaf than I already am, I asked if I could pay to sit in premium economy.
“It’s full,” she said. Upper class?
“No, that’s full as well.” But I’d have thought that, what with the recession and the weaker pound and global warming, the plane would be almost empty?
“No, it’s business as usual,” she said, smiling sweetly. Bugger.
I had hoped the dire straits in which the world now finds itself would have at least guaranteed a spare seat next to me on the plane. And I had consoled myself—while briefly thinking about my carbon footprint—with the thought that the plane would take off whether I was on board or not, so what did it matter?
This is the problem. Each of us feels so ignored, so disenfranchised, we no longer believe individual actions can make a difference.
So, well done indeed to a determined young woman called Leila Deen, who on Friday decided to get up early, make some custard and dye it green (rather than spend two hours deciding which ridiculous pair of shoes to wear, which is what most women of her generation seem to do these days), plonk herself outside the Royal Society and fling the custard in Peter Mandelson’s smarmy face.
It’s not April yet, but surely this is a parody?