I REMEMBER a conversation with a friend a few years ago. ‘Surely’, we agreed, ‘we must have reached peak madness.’
How wrong we were. As someone who keeps an eye on the news for writing inspiration, my challenge is what to choose among the daily deluge of barminess that is modern life.
For example, on Thursday morning, three idiocies struck in rapid succession before I had even managed to brush my teeth.
On Twitter, I was subjected to a toe-curlingly cringeworthy video put out by Microsoft during their ‘Ignite’ conference. The video starts off with an earnest recognition that the land where the ‘Microsoft campus’ is located was ‘traditionally occupied’ by various Native American tribes ‘since time immemorial’.
There’s a lot to extract from this. It is, naturally, part of the concerted effort to delegitimise the presence of the descendants of European settlers in North America – or as they are otherwise known, the people who built the country. By reasserting the rights of the Sammamish people among others, Whitey is defined as an unwelcome interloper.
One is not allowed, naturally, to question the statement. It is a post-modern creed. But whether such tribes were in Washington State since ‘time immemorial’ is debatable: they have been there a long time, granted, but they too probably migrated there over the Bering Strait many thousands of years ago. Bloody immigrants, the lot of them!
Whether in decades to come, events held in de-anglicised towns such as Blackburn and Rotherham will start with a solemn recognition of the traditional ownership of the lands by Anglo-Saxons and Celts is something we will have to wait to see.
As the video continues each host introduces themselves by their name, their ethnicity, their hair colour, and lastly, the clothes they are wearing. As far as the descent into rampant individualism goes, defining oneself by the hue of your boxer-shorts is surely a new depth. The infantility of it all is quite hard to grasp for a mind not fundamentally warped by the noxious narcotic of modernism.
Getting off the computer, muttering about the preposterousness of it all, I went downstairs. The post had arrived, among it a letter from a company entrusted with holding on to some of my hard-earned pennies.
It was, according to them, their new goal to become ‘Net Zero’ by 2050 ‘or earlier’. Call me old-fashioned, but my primary concern is for them to be responsible custodians of my moolah, not another branch of the idiotic cult of Net Zero. In light of this news, it is my plan to reduce the money I have being looked after by the company to what could be described as ‘Net Zero’. With the old adage ‘go woke, go broke’ in mind, perhaps they will achieve their no-emissions goal sooner than they imagine after all.
Shortly afterwards, I was made to watch the John Lewis (another company busily digging its own grave) festive advert by a family member who was evidently keen on delivering the coup de grâce to my waning early-morning tranquillity.
As modern TV advertisements go it’s par for the course. A non-white family in domestic bliss. White men in adverts are, generally, reserved for roles requiring idiocy or malevolence, and so there are none to be seen here, apart from an old bloke asleep at the back of the bus: unconscious and, next stop, oblivion.
The theme of ‘intergalactic romance’ seems a peculiar choice for a Christmas ad. Naturally, in the mirror image of Microsoft’s prostrating to the ‘indigenous people of the land’, said advert has only one white person, as a Martian. It’s a lame attempt: all I could see was a young white girl. I prefer my aliens as in the film Mars Attacks! That she and the young black protagonist are soon falling in love fulfils the requirement of every advert having a mixed-race couple.
This is, it has to be mentioned, from the same company which recently announced that they were turning away from their traditional business model and reorienting themselves towards property and financial services. A sound plan. They have shown astute judgement in their recently banned home insurance advert. With a woman at the helm who hasn’t a day’s business experience in her life, but who is on £1million per year, what could go wrong?
The madness is all too much. Stop the world, I want to get off. But you can’t. Like some demented fairground worker attending to a rickety ride liable to kill all those riding it, we are strapped in and hurtling down the tracks of the Left’s insanity at an alarming pace. It won’t be pretty when we come off the rails.