I am not a romantic. In fact, in some ways I might be extreme enough as to be an iconoclast. This isn’t in the sense of being a nihilist — far from it. I’m a moderate monarchist, Low Church Anglican with high church attendance and hobbies that are so sedate that even the most curmudgeonly of Dorset grandmothers approve.
Rather, I am an ardent opponent of the smug self-satisfaction that many embrace. Take, for example, intellectually undistinguished xenophiles. “Oh, but speaking French and spending at least part of my year on the Continent makes me all so sophisticated. Look at me, I’m so superior to those numpties voting for Brexit living in the West Country or northern England”. It would be slightly more galling if they weren’t so identikit. Really, one is almost tempted to feel a certain pity for the lot.Voting “remain” because one didn’t wish to support taking a leap into the unknown is perfectly reasonable. Most intellectually honest Brexiteers have always been willing to admit that there would be many challenges involved. It’s easier to have respect for other opinions if they’re actually original and thought-out, not boiler-plate regurgitations.
Another one of my great bugbears concerns driving. I’ve broken down and concluded that I will have to buy a car. This is proving to be somewhat of a challenge. Even though I’ve been able to come to terms with a manual gearbox, I disdain them and would rather not drive cars that have them. I’m lazy by nature and would rather focus on the flow of traffic, etc, that manipulating outmoded and outdated technology. I bloody well know how to drive, thank you very much. I’ve gone well over a decade without a speeding ticket or accident. It annoys me when my reluctance to make a barely palatable activity more difficult than it needs to is met with scorn and jeers.