Even now, Britain has a professional sect of levellers more effective than any guillotine, though they
leave more bloody entrails to be cleared up afterward: the tabloid press. Anyone with the temerity to raise themselves
above the common lot will quickly find themselves first cut off, then cut up, and finally endure the shame of secret photographs
of their flabby buttock cleavage splashed across page one.
Buttocks! Tits! Stonkers!! We can't get enough!
For a people supposed to be distant and polite, the British have an insatiable appetite
for gossip, innuendo and big'uns.
The Germans are clear and open on the subject of sex. It is a biological expedient
to be cleared up in an efficient manner using whatver collection of whips, manacles and
spiky hats necessary for a result. The French consider sex an elongated pose, preferably lit in black and white
with a smoking ashtray in the foreground . The Irish feel it best left to someone else.
But in England you can't get
to work in the morning without wading through five or six celebrities/government ministers/naughty guide leaders and their
illicit toe/bondage/swimming pool orgies. It's enough to put you off your breakfast, or write an angry,
angry letter of complaint, or consider becoming a guide leader.
Ought to be locked up.
The British policemen can also be the most approachable, the least fear-inspiring available,
except of course when they have
to don harsh London accents and chase after evil villains/humorous conmen. Then it's matter of doin' 'is 'ead in,
'im up, or shut it, slag. I haven't sampled that side of things yet. (The Irish police may be on a similar plane, but I've never yet met one
I could understand. The average Irish Garda is a six foot two farmer's son from Ballyferriter, who speaks no language known to man.
The only way to placate one is to move your car, either a little, or a lot, and see if this is pleasing.)
On the whole, it's a happy medium. Noone is better than you, or at least they're ashamed to say so. Occasionally
someone may rise to great fame and wealth, but we'll get to see what they hide in their dog kennel. The social pendulum rises
and falls, but mostly stays around the middle. And you'll always have your own three millimetres of space.