Contrary to popular belief, I can’t stand Jeremy Clarkson. He epitomises most things I detest: he’s boorish, puerile and frankly, the sort of person who should still be strutting around a 6th form grammar school common room proudly wearing a prefect badge and pretending he was the one who discovered Pink Floyd.
He is, however, a fantastic performer in his chosen field. He brings simple humour, outrage, offence and plain speaking to a public ever more constricted by an elite few who wish to control not just what we can say but what we can think – for their own ends, naturally.
And the public have just given him half a million signatures in less than 24 hours, a new record, to carry on doing all of the above via the Guido Fawkes petition at Change.org. Now either you want to call half a million (now 700,000) of your fellow citizens utter morons who refuse to toe the party line or you can examine a little closer what is actually happening here.
Whether or not Clarkson is your cup of tea, his message is certainly mine. This is a battle between a state broadcaster and a representative of free speech – a long game between the two bitter rivals and you’d better hope that Clarkson wins. If he doesn’t, and ends up fired, the worst that will happen is Netflix or Sky will sign him up and make him even richer and more popular than the BBC ever could or (God willing) he will break the strangle hold of our unelected cabal of humourless, dour and politically correct jizzcandles currently ruling the airwaves via Salford Media City.
Naturally, I’m backing Clarkson. Just as I’ll back anyone who decides not to wear the saddle of conformity, obedience and inoffensiveness. The dream of the BBC is to inflict their Orwellian version of a bland, desperately equal but false society on all of us whilst sitting smugly in their media towers deciding how we should all act, talk and think. Mavericks are ridiculed and silenced, even the ones paying the bills and most definitely the ones making people laugh or think. There is little point in having a State broadcaster if it cannot control the State message and Clarkson’s message of humour and fun does not bode well with social engineers desperate for control over the very proles who are forced to fund it even if they never watch it.
If we lose this battle, it won’t just be tobacco that comes in boring plain wrappers with only the state message stamped on it, it’ll be everything – booze, then fast food, then food, then fashion and every other aspect of our mundane lives that our masters are so desperate to control. We need more Clarksons breaking down the BBC into manageable chunks to be sold off, not less. We need more mavericks happy to answer back, happy to turn their insolent mouths into popular thought and more free thinkers and speakers to fight back against a generation of nay sayers and yoghurt knitting collectivists determined to see us all in androgenous Mao suits slaving over our tax bills.
Keep your foot down Clarkson, it’s a long road we all need to travel.