Being able to make our thoughts public, through “blogs” or “tweets”, seems to have become a very efficient muzzle. The greater the number of people who read our, ineradicable, words the more cautious we have to become. We are very much freer when spouting alcohol fuelled diatribes at dinner with friends than we are when diffusing that same rant across the world wide garden fence. Friends can agree, disagree, make allowances, leave the table or just punch you out. There is no reason why the content of your declamation should leave that room and, if it should, it becomes hearsay and is quite deniable. The same rant on the internet makes Moses’ stone tablets seem as flimsy as post it notes. And so we keep the good stuff to ourselves as it’s bound to piss off someone or reveal more than we wanted to reveal. The anonymity of the lavatory wall or the intimacy of initials carved in the bark of a tree is gone. It must be hell for spies.
I have always loved swearing and profanity and have never felt that any occasion, however formal or solemn, would not benefit from the occasional expletive. Yet, for the first time in my life, I feel constrained in my opinions and language by the internet. This is the only time in my life that I have had to come into contact with the world of PC, that I loathe and detest. I cannot remember a time when society has been so shackled by how it can “appropriately” express itself.
Before I go any further and fuck everyone off, here’s a picture of an apple tart, or to make sure not to cause offence, apples cooked on a puff pastry base.