VERITY LUSH: How schoolchildren will guffaw at the Elizabethan selfie generation
I watched a programme about the coronation of the Queen recently.
With age comes a sense of the enormity of history.
Here we sit, Elizabethans in our own right, and in decades to come schoolchildren will one day learn about us.
Presumably they’ll also draw us in our fashions. They’ll need huge Sharpies to get the eyebrows right, and perhaps do individual studies of how everyone in the earliest part of the 21st century became addicted to devices of a screen-based nature, hands like claws and crooked necks.
By the time the children are studying us, we will have no doubt gone back to basics, rehabbing ourselves from our phones and switching off our e-mails in the evening (she said, in vain hope).
I am convinced that much as everyone is now returning to vinyl, so they will return to sensible workloads as we all get sick of being mentally menaced via technology for approximately 20 hours out of every 24 on offer.
They’ll have homework tasks set that involve making papier mache models of big beards, and laugh in jolly tones when told about how half the country once voted that we leave Europe, and expected this to solve all the woes in our part of the world, imagining that Winston Churchill would come back to life, and the NHS would suddenly come to resemble one gigantic Bupa hospital.
No waiting lists and gleaming corridors filled with unstressed staff, not patients on trolleys.
Alternatively, we’ll still be in the midst of Brexit.
No doubt there will be a non-uniform day where the parents all complain that they are expected to buy or construct yet another costume, and the kids will all come in wearing the big beards they’ve made, with giant eyebrows drawn on, too.
They’ll carry cardboard mobiles and spend the day taking faux selfies, and pictures of their lunch to put on social media.
In science they’ll guffaw at how drinks that contained eleventy billion cubes of sugar were seen as the norm by a generation who simultaneously paid to have their teeth bleached.
A golden age indeed!
WHO CARES HOW YOU GET THEM OUT AS LONG AS BABIES ARE DELIVERED SAFELY?
Helen George has bravely admitted that she chose to have a c-section.
For some women, this is akin to standing up and shouting ‘I eat kittens’ at vegetarian rallies.
George said that she had heard so many tales of episiotomy horror, that she simply couldn’t go through with it.
If men thought they’d need their penis cut lengthways to make way for passing a watermelon, then I’m sure they’d vote for stomach-slicing too.
Having had sections myself I can also vouch for the fact that they are far from an easy, painless option, but as long as your baby is safely delivered, who cares?
There’s no point condemning George for her admitting this.
It’s her body and childbirth is terrifying.
THE HUGE GAP IN THE ‘ME TOO’ SCANDAL
The scandals of men who have harassed women in Hollywood, or the world in general, continue to roll forth aplenty.
But where are the men who have been harassed by women?
Where are the young male office workers whose female colleagues back in the 1970s made flirty comments about their buttocks?
Where are the blokes who have been squeezed on the bottom by drunken women in clubs? Why are they not coming forwards?
We must never demean the experiences of genuine harassment and real trauma.
Nor should men be afraid to come forwards with their tales.
But nor should any person who’s simply brushed off the advances of another cry, ‘Me too.’
There is a titanic gap between the two.