Tuesday, December 08, 2009
A Nation of Wet Nellies
No wonder the kids of Britain are fat, soft and dense.Forgive that sweeping generalisation but we really are screwing our kids up. And before anybody starts I'm a porker myself, losing my hair, pretty rapidly, but, while I don't claim to be Einstein, I don't think I'm dense.
What kicked it off for me today was that Big Brother is now going to put internet safety on the national curriculum for five year olds. This government loves nothing more than making people feel like victims, or potential victims, then riding to the rescue, as they think. What is wrong with parents actually taking responsibility for what their kids do or do not look at? Oh, of course, parents haven't necessarily been police checked or cleared by the Independent Safeguarding Authority so are probably paedophiles in the eyes of this government, or in the eye of the Prime Minister.
So the poor little darlings are growing up being told that the internet is dangerous. That the man with a camera by the football field is probably a pervert. That conkers could blind you so wear these goggles. That a car could kill you so mummy and daddy will be fined if your car seat is an inch too big or small. That daddy smokes so will die a long lingering death from cancer before you reach your teens. That every other kid in the world is a bully and therefore to be avoided. That playing with toy guns will lead to you being shot by a police marksman. That fat kids, like you should be taken into care. That fat kids who need adopting will stay in care because the potential adoptees smoke a fag on a Saturday night while having a pint, which means they're irresponsible binge drinkers destined for early deaths from cirrhosis and lung cancer. That social services are so busy imposing political correctness that if you are in genuine danger you will probably be beaten to death by one of your fat slapper of a mother's junkie boyfriends.
So the the parents go to the supermarket where there are special parent and child parking bays right next to the entrance so fat little Tarquin doesn't have to wobble too far to make a right effin' nuisance of himself in the shop, mother cooing like an over-indulgent dove while her litle fat nerd makes a right nuisance of himself in the sweets and chocolate aisle.
Then there is the school run. Fat little Tarquin and Tamara can't possibly walk the half mile to school, that would be child cruelty and have social services on you like a ton of bricks. No, mummy has to use the Hummer to get her precious ones safely to school. Then, when she double parks on those yellow zig-zags outside school because some other mummy has already parked on them, she gives you the middle finger for daring to suggest she stops causing a traffic jam. But of course, you park with a bumper over the zig-zags and you'll get a hysterical lecture about endangering the lives of our little ones who are all going to die before their teens anyway because the melting polar ice caps will drown them or they will be eaten by migrating polar bears, unable to save themslves because guns have been outlawed and the only kids who were trained with toy ones were shot by the police anyway.
So now you know!