As the world turns to London it may still imagine us a serious, taciturn people. If so, the world is in for a shock. For Britain has become a land all but denuded of grown-ups. We are in the grip of a full-scale, double-dip regression.
We were not surprised that our Prime Minister should be addicted to a video game called Fruit Ninja. His predecessor, then in his late fifties, claimed to enjoy listening to teenage pop bands and had a wife who held ‘slumber parties’ for other women in their forties. Stand in any British high street and you’ll see the people to whom these politicians hope to appeal. Most middle-aged British men and women dress as if auditioning for a prequel to High School Musical. Their tastes are indistinguishable from those of adolescents. How did this age-race to the bottom occur?
For years our political and media classes have portrayed the tastes of the young as not equally important, but more important, than any other. Our newspapers seem disgusted at the idea of grown-up readers, doing all they can to shake them off. They run endless stories and photos of teenage idols, although it’s plain that any adult professing an interest in Justin Bieber should have their computer hard-drive examined by the police. Everywhere we are forced to witness the horrible display of kiddie-aping adults. Attitudes once thought necessary partly in order to flatter the young have become the cultural norm, and no one now knows the way back.
And who would dare lead the way? Even if your tastes are not pubescent, you must pretend they are. A surprising number of balding editors and other adults still attend things like Glastonbury, hoping the pilgrimage will wash away the cardinal sin of age.
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