Manners or morals? That’s the question Brits are struggling with as the argument about leaving the European Union comes to a boil. With the March 29 deadline for departure looming, many in England seem to have lost their cool. It’s damn the torpedoes, among upper crust and fishmongers alike.
One Dame of high society reports her recent dinner party ended with guests hurtling themselves across the table and grabbing at each other’s throats. “I couldn’t have,” she decreed and banned several of those present from future gatherings.
At one top men’s clubs in London, where, generally, all things remotely problematic are forbidden, including women, a heated argument regarding Brexit broke out over brandy snifters. “I felt like Alice in Wonderland,” admitted on long time member. (“Brixit Dinner Party Hell!” by Janine di Giovanni, TownandCountry, March 2019, pg. 138.)
I sense a similar panic in my own country as we head into the 2020 election. Am I paranoid, or do my political comments earn me emojis that smile too broadly or not enough? And what about fact checking among those who comment. That seems to have gone the way of dial-up internet connections. Sometimes articles appear on my news feed, intending to pass for facts, that would be bettered suited for the Borowitz Report.
Of course, there are those who pride themselves on avoiding political comment. Like England’s queen, they rise above the fray, their noses pointed with disdain upon the squabbles below. Such restraint baffles me, frankly. When a President declares a national emergency, then flies off to play golf, how can anyone withhold comment? Is a person’s presence on social media solely to sell books or paintings or tap dance lesson? Why claim a bully pulpit and treat it like a foot rest?
My hope is that despite my candor, readers will come to love me, warts and all. Being human, I’m bound to disappoint. But, never, I hope, do I bore.