Imagine this. You are driving along following a reasonably successful holiday—or at least a not-wholly-disastrous change of scene. To your unfolding amazement, the road is clear: no road “work” and no congestion. You have put aside your macro anxieties—war, climate change, U.K. tabloid queen Katie Price—and you are likewise enjoying rare psychological respite from those of a more personal nature: hair, weight, the staggering tedium of your life thus far.
You are not required to make any decisions, there are no strangers in view whom you find attractive, and there is nothing to spend your money on or to remind you that you haven’t got any. In other words, you are happy.
Thus, foolishly buoyed, you reach for the radio hoping for a program worth a sentient adult’s time, and the very first thing you hear is the presenter’s voice saying: “With regard to the global economy, Andy from Cheadle has e-mailed the program to say he thinks that . . .” Blocking the irritation, you switch stations. Another presenter with a different accent seems to be finishing a discussion about Israel and Palestine but, just as you settle back, she says: “Lindsay from Wrexham has texted in to say . . .”
Now the fury surges. Recklessly, you dial through as many stations as there are frequencies, but it’s always the same: “Sandy has gotten in touch to say that everyone knows Afghanistan is really all about . . .”; “Alison from Woodbridge has tweeted that she is in favor of vaccinations but that her doctor is on holiday so . . .”; “Nigel in Hyde is listening while he gets dressed and wonders why, when it comes to the polar ice caps, there can’t be more people like Jeremy Clarkson since . . .”
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