Grow up, you plebs

I don’t watch much TV in the summer but last night the rainy autumn evening drove me indoors. No problem, I enjoyed an entertaining game of rugby but then that was followed by Newsnight, and within minutes I started screaming and throwing things at the plasma.

It’s a few years since I watched this programme and I recall it used to be reasonably intelligent. What happened? When did it become just twisted bunch of nobodies discussing things in detail that are completely irrelevant. I recognise this, as it is something I do myself daily. But I would like to think my opinions carry a little bit of common sense, if not common belief.

The subject is Andrew Mitchell, that cocky politician who, after yet another media witch-hunt, has just resigned. Good, They all should, if you ask me, and let my dog run the country. He couldn’t do much worse.

But it is the reason he has been forced to resign that beggars belief.  

‘You called me names!’ says a lowly worker. ‘I’m telling on you, and they’ll listen to me, because I’m a prefect, I mean, policeman-librarian-milk monitor-important person.’  

Yes I called you names, because you were acting like a fucking moron, says the Mitchell, and calling people manes is what I do for a living. I called you a pleb. It’s a derogatory term for someone who does a job that requires common sense, and that person is not applying any. Like you, for instance.

We’ve all wanted to say it. Stop acting like a prick and go and catch some proper criminals instead of hiding behind the red tape that gives idiots like you an academic position with a uniform in the name of the law.

Don’t agree?

Come on – a traffic warden in your locale with a big ego who hands out a ticket, 2 minutes after yours expires? A bouncer, bus conductor or museum security guard has hassled you in the last week, I bet?

Because, Ladies and Gentlemen, many of these sad people who hide behind that uniform do it purely for power.

Recently I was aggressively searched by a jumped-up little twat at Luton airport who insisted on putting his hands down my trousers in the name of security. So intense was his antagonism that I am convinced he wanted me to smack him, just to get himself yet another settlement. And he came very, very close. These people are out there – specifically for this excuse – I am convinced.

Don’t get me wrong, we need a good police force, and every manjack should help them do their job by abiding by the law. But surly part of their training should be to withstand personal insults, and focus on people doing wrong?

I swear profusely, every hour. Mainly at myself to be fair, but sometimes at the weather, my dog, my computer, even Wendy. The dogs can’t answer back, nor can the clouds, but Wendy may retaliate a little and when she does, I apologise. Event over.

When I was a kid you and you called someone a name, even a policeman, you got a clip round the ear and were made to take it back.

So when was it that a uniform became a cloak that a worker could use to entice financial gain?

Surely part of the job interview would say: “NOT EVERYONE LIKES BEING TOLD WHAT TO DO BY A UNIFORM, SO YOU MAY GET A LITTLE VERBAL ABUSE FROM TIME TO TIME. IN THE INTEREST OF EVERYONE, BE BIG ENOUGH TO IGNORE IT, PLEASE. AND TRY NOT TO ANTAGONISE PEOPLE…EH?”

I can just see PC Pleb now, heading off to work on Downing street rubbing his hands, mind full of social uprising, begging for insults from the country’s ruling classes. ‘You can’t ride you bike there, Sir. It’s against the rules, Sir. Stand away from the bike, Sir!’

I’m not condoning arrogance. Andrew Mitchell had no business to talk down to anyone, but for god sakes, shake hands – and apologise. And get on with your job.

Instead of filling my autumn TV screen with discussions by morons with the combined intellect of a wool-sack, using childish actions for political gain.