Iconoclast
Iconoclast (Photo credit: xplan303ex)

We members of the middle class are all victims, suffering in vain, alone in our wisdom, against an unfair society that condemns us conformist iconoclasts. I suppose that in our circles, the removal of the need for little girls to lie to fit in should be seen as absolutely horrific.

Nevertheless, it is barely less grim to see that the new Promise asks girls to pledge (instead of “to love God”) that they will “be true to myself and develop my beliefs”.

Oh for the love of God! (Or, rather, not for the love of God.) What ghastly committee meeting, what endless wrangle, what months of debate, what conferences and whiteboards and PowerPoint presentations led to this lame, weak, hollow clump of Californian couch jargon?

I’m sorry they dropped God from the pledge rather than simply offer, as is done with jurors, an alternative wording for anyone whose faith or lack of it cannot incorporate the name. It seems a mean trick to play on all those churches that lend their halls for Brownie and Guide activities – forcing them to choose between continuing to house an organisation that has publicly severed its link with what they stand for, or withdrawing the space and leaving local children with nowhere to gather.

I mean, that is the middle class for you. A herd of conformists that dream of iconoclasm as they think, write, and consume the same thing as the neighbour does. Expressions of doubt, conflict, disagreement, and difference is really not on, is it? Everything in moderation, right?

We all celebrate individuality and diversity as we’ve turned every single one of us into a carbon copy of ourselves. A copy that doesn’t hold too unpleasant views, but who hold just slight quirks in order for us to marvel at it over wine at the parties. A copy who is fashionably left, but sensibly so.

A copy that shops sensibly organic in the right shops, and who puts a bob or two in the neighbour’s charity coinbox when he stands outside our Costas, trying to help those oh so unfortunate ones that aren’t like us.

A copy that would never dream of voting for someone as disagreeable as Mr Milliband, and who think that Mr Cameron’s views may be a bit misguided, but we’ve all got to live within our means, don’t we? The poor can’t become like us if they fritter away their job-seeking allowances of fags and junk food, will they?

This bit of sarcasm was brought to you courtesy of the Champagne Socialist Society where people like the Guardian writer is holding court, because our Oxbridge degrees (even those of us who don’t have any such) puts us in touch with the suffering working classes.

I admire The Guardian in many ways, but (pardon the expression) by god they can be cloying and annoying.

Does that mean that I seek a source for confirmation bias? Maybe I am not so different from the middle class members after all, and long for a place and a niche where I too can sneer over a glass of wine and a canape at an art exhibit about some unfortunate break with the norms.

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