‘Repeat after me, gentlemen: “Thank you for not letting me into your Oxbridge college because I belong to the wrong social class and I have been too well taught.’’’
I do hope they include this catechism in the new ‘gratitude’ lessons that they’re about to introduce at Eton. They should do because it’s true. Across the country, private school parents who have scrimped and saved about £40,000 a year for fees are increasingly finding that their sacrifice is being rewarded by near-automatic Oxbridge rejection for their blameless offspring.
And who is speaking out against this class war-driven injustice? Almost no one.
Congratulations to all the kids who did well in their A Levels today.
Now do yourselves a favour: don’t waste your time going to university.
Especially don’t waste your time trying to get into Oxford or Cambridge. They’re over: you only have to watch an episode of University Challenge to see that. There’s barely a normal, rounded person among them, these days. They’re freaks – socially maladept, tragically introverted or even more painfully extroverted, some with Adam’s apples but female names, every one of them definitely a Jeremy Corbyn supporter – especially that horrible team from Balliol who won a couple of years ago.
I’ve seen it happen. A lad just down the road from us, lovely boy, nice school, posh parents, got a place at Oxford. Two years on, he thinks Jeremy Corbyn is the answer and heartily supports the “decolonisation” of the curriculum whereby in future dead white males like Shakespeare will be downplayed in order to give proper place to global historical talents like Maya Angelou and Afua Hirsch.
This is a feature, not a bug of our greatest universities. (Same, of course, applies to the Ivy League). The authorities have capitulated to the Social Justice Warriors. So have the majority of undergraduates who aren’t themselves SJWs but find it easier to get along by paying lipservice to their kill-joy, anti-free-speech, ultra-PC values.
Today I am launching an appeal on behalf of a former British comedian called Robert Webb.
Unless you live in the UK you probably won’t have heard of him. But in his day he was very funny – first as part of the double act Mitchell and Webb, later in the even funnier series Peep Show (which really was much better than the travesty of a U.S. remake, honest).
Anyway, sadly, those days of being funny are long behind him. Poor Webb has fallen victim to a disease which has ravaged the global comedic community so cruelly and on such a scale that it could probably provide Tony Kushner with enough material to write another Pulitzer Prize-winning play.
This disease comes in several ugly mutations.
There’s the basic form – Cleese’s Disease – where you started out funny but you haven’t been for years because you now take yourself far too seriously.
There’s Schumer-Degeneres Syndrome, where you probably weren’t that funny to start with but you’re definitely even less funny now that you’ve become obsessed with hating your own white privilege.
There’s Linehan Complex, where your youthful frivolity has mutated into hideous arrogance and bitterness and extreme self-righteousness which leads you to lash out viciously on social media at anyone who doesn’t share your impeccably woke SJW politics.
Robert Webb, poor chap, has managed to contract all three variants of the disease at once.