Imagine the scene.
You are sitting on a bus with nineteen fellow adults at 4pm during school term time. Your journey is suddenly interrupted by the noisy arrival of nine teenage products of our utopian/dystopian comprehensive schooling system. They shriek, they swear and they spit. They eat crisps and throw the empty packets to the floor, drink coke and allow the subsequently discarded cans to roll up and down the aisle and between your feet. One of them, a fifteen-year- old called Wayne turns up his ghetto blaster as a girl, covered in cheap gold jewellery, her hair scraped back, decorative rings adorning various parts of her overweight, multi-pierced anatomy grinds herself into his lap, her lipsticked mouth a knowing grin, her mascara’d eyes aflutter. She is fourteen years old. She knows all about sex; thrice hetero, bi and gay varieties, she learned that at primary school. She goes by the name of Shazza and lost her virginity to Wayne’s brother Dwayne at the age of twelve.
Shazza also knows about abortions, at least she knows they are her right in the event that Wayne, the Epsilon-Semi- Moron she is presently gyrating upon, fails to use the state-subsidised condoms handed out in assembly and “Knock Her Up”. Should the wayward Wayne impregnate her, and should she not take up her inalienable right to abort Wayne’s epsilon offspring she also knows her right to a free council flat as yet another ruined single mum teenager. Shazza, Wayne and their gang all know about these things, and others, such as how evil the British Empire was and how we perpetrated and condoned the evils of slavery. Sadly though, the name Wilberforce will only elicit a vacant, bovine look or a glottal-stopped enquiry into which club he plays for.
There are some things however that she does not know. She has no concept of the notions of honour, patriotism, duty, obligation, deference and civility. She can barely read, spell, add up or multiply in her head. She has no knowledge of her culture, the history of her country or the history of the institutions that make up and form the community she grew up in. No knowledge of music, art, language or literature. She is the same as the rest of her friends. Today, on-board the number twelve bus they are simply representing their school (motto: Striving for Excellence In The Community). In later years they will represent Britain as her tattooed, alcohol-fuelled ambassadors in the Dantesque clubs and bars of Ibiza, Faliraki and Torremolinos.
They are the sub-race; their future lives will consist of eking out a low wage, semi- criminal, state-subsidised existence on the periphery of civilisation. They are the death rattle in the dying convulsions of a once proud educational system in a once proud nation. Obscene as they are, the truly ultimate obscenity is that they are the cold-blooded, calculated, consciously planned end product of the liberal/left’s tightly controlled forty-five year experiment in Socialist Social Engineering. The British comprehensive inner-city school version of “Give me the boy and I will give you the Wayne”.
There is of course one other thing that Shazza, Wayne and their friends know. They know that you and the other nineteen adults on the bus are frightened of them. They know this because nobody has asked them to turn down the music, stop swearing, or pick up their litter. Would you?