The Sunday Times – Drip-drip-drip of a revolution, by Jeremy Clarkson

The news last week that olive oil, Marmite and porridge cannot now be advertised during television programmes aimed at children confirms something I’ve suspected for a few months. There’s a revolution going on in Britain and no one seems to have noticed.

When the French and Russian proletariat rose up against the middle and upper classes, they made a lot of noise and used pitchforks. Whereas here the revolutionaries are using stealth and a drip-drip-drip policy of never-ending legislation.

It started when they let ramblers trample all over your flowerbeds and then, of course, there was hunting. We know that the antis couldn’t really have cared less about the wellbeing of foxy woxy, but they hated, with a passion, the well-heeled country folk who charged about on their horses shouting tally ho.

Then came the attack on four-wheel-drive cars. “It’s the environment,” they smiled, but it’s no such thing. Otherwise they’d be up north taxing people with clapped out Ford Orions and telling fat people in council houses to get out of the chip shop and lag their bloody lofts.

No, they go after Chelsea Tractors because these are symbols of middle-class success. You have to remember that trade unionists and antinuclear campaigners didn’t go away. They just morphed into eco-mentalists because they realised that global warming was a better weapon than striking, or doing lesbionics for mother Russia in Berkshire.

Read the whole thing. So I don’t have to quote the whole thing. And of course he’s right. Well, one more bit:

I felt it too on Thursday, because for reasons I can’t be bothered to explain I was in London with a Rolls-Royce and no one ever let me out of a side turning.

Why? As I’ve said before, Simon Cowell, who is a rich man, gives the exchequer more each year than is generated by all the speed cameras put together. If you combined the tax contributions of all those who have Rollers, I bet you’d have enough to pay for Britain’s air traffic control system.

And that’s before you start on how much Britain’s rich do for charity. Last year a bunch a hedge fund managers raised £18m in a single night to help Romanian orphans. At one party Lady Bamford’s mates stumped up £3m for the NSPCC. And I had lunch on Thursday with a chap who, so far as I could tell, single-handedly looks after every disadvantaged child in the land.

And yet, when he climbs into his Bentley to go home at night, a bunch of communists and hippies, egged on by faceless former Greenham lesbos in government think tanks, makes sure he can never pull into the traffic flow.