One of Mac's nephews has recently moved to Bristol after finishing university, so last month we invited him round for dinner. Turns out he's in cahoots with the "Fairford Two" (and assorted crusties) and despite (because of?) a First in Philosophy, he's about as gormless as they come.
Still, I managed to take it all with good grace, though I couldn't help guffawing when he started quoting Chomsky. Luckily, I was cooking that evening so I had plenty of opportunities to absent myself from the pre-dinner conversation.
All in all, I feel sorry for him, not because of his views or the people they've led him to associate with, but because underneath that thin veneer of studied radicalism you could sense the fear and confusion of a young man uncertain about his place in the world and not knowing what to make of his life.
Having said that, next time he calls me "bourgeois" I think I'll clout him.
