Another typically English tale, of grotesque orclike chavscum, and lenient/pusillanimous judges. Several people have now told me the Daily Mail is full of lies but all my life in England, in Huddersfield, Durham, Leeds, and Manchester, i have repeatedly directly witnessed things like this, or heard of it from friends/co-workers; and the last time someone told me not to trust the DM i simply located a matching article in the Guardian, covering the same story, and sent it to the sceptical rosy-tinter. i think the rich, able to live a nice cosseted life, can half-ignore the ugliness and brutality that is just normal in England these days, but if you observe what is there, you will see; and if you refuse to observe, you won’t. These rosy-tinters remind me of a scene in one of Theodore Dalyrmple’s essays:

Recently, for example, I was invited to a lunch at a famous and venerable liberal publication, to which I occasionally contribute articles that go against its ideological grain. The publication’s current owner is a bon vivant and excellent host who made several scores of millions in circumstances that still excite considerable public curiosity. Around the lunch table (from which, I am glad to say, British proletarian fare was strictly excluded) were gathered people of impeccable liberal credentials: the one exception being myself.

On my right sat a man in his late sixties, intelligent and cultivated, who had been a distinguished foreign correspondent for the BBC and who had spent much of his career in the United States. He said that for the last ten years he had read with interest my weekly dispatches—printed in a rival, conservative publication—depicting the spiritual, cultural, emotional, and moral chaos of modern urban life, and had always wanted to meet me to ask me a simple question: Did I make it all up?

i generally don’t wish violence upon my friends/acquaintances, but a bit of street brutality can do wonders.

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