Get me out of here, I’m just an Oxbridge snob:
man trained to scorn, man nauseated by it all,
the popular parade, the Saturday charade,
the unctuous judges, the Pavlovian applause.
They’re strictly for the masses,
families on their squelching couches,
yet I goggle Gogglebox and feel faint hope
that even squelching Brexiters are moved
by broken hearts and broken bones.
And yes, I even take faint pride
in how my fellow countrymen
can deprecate themselves
and laugh away the rage
that eats us all alive.