Ah, the English. A nation with an unmatched talent for moral gymnastics. They’ve spent centuries mastering the fine art of colonisation—sorry, diplomacy—and now it seems they’re applying those very same skills to a more domestic form of hypocrisy. Take the latest example: Huw Edwards. The trusted, velvet-voiced presenter who guided the nation through every royal event and tragedy, a man who could make even the most mundane news story sound like Shakespeare in the making. And yet, behind that polished façade of upper-class decency, we find not just a slip in character, but a full-blown descent into tabloid-worthy depravity.
Of course, the English reaction is textbook. Disbelief first—“But he went to Oxford! He reads the news so well !”—quickly followed by that classic brand of righteous indignation, all while carefully sidestepping any reflection on how the very institutions they revere might have been complicit in enabling such behaviour. After all, we wouldn’t want to tarnish the image of Oxbridge, that hallowed ground where futures are forged, and apparently, some rather dark hobbies are pursued.
Oxford. The very mention of it sends shivers of envy down the spines of those poor souls who didn’t quite make the cut. But let’s not kid ourselves here—getting into Oxford is less about your brain and more about your breeding. Not that we’d ever admit that, of course. That would be impolite. Instead, the English prefer the subtle approach, a well-practiced art form they’ve been honing for centuries. Diplomacy, you see, isn’t just about handling international relations. Oh no. It’s about the careful, delicate dance of letting someone know they’re inferior without them even realising it. “You didn’t go to Oxford? Oh, how… interesting.” Translation: you’re the intellectual equivalent of a damp biscuit.
But poor Huw Edwards, you might say—he had it all! The Oxbridge education, the career, the gravitas. And yet, somewhere between the BBC studio and his WhatsApp inbox, he lost his way. Apparently, downloading horrific images of children is the new national pastime for those with too much time and too little conscience. You’d think that someone educated at one of the finest universities in the world would know better. Then again, if Oxford can teach you anything, it’s how to hide your worst impulses behind a veneer of respectability. Isn’t that what makes Britain great?
Let’s also not forget the classic English reaction when things go south: deflection. Huw Edwards wasn’t the problem, you see—it’s the system! It’s always the system. The English love a good scapegoat, especially when it allows them to avoid looking in the mirror for too long. This is the nation that gave us diplomacy, after all. Why confront the truth when you can wrap it up in a neat package of polite excuses?
And now, we’ve entered the age of the Great Chinese Infiltration. Apparently, we should all be on high alert because those dastardly Chinese students are threatening to take over Oxford University, possibly with nefarious plans to learn about… diplomacy? The English establishment, already shaky from the Huw Edwards scandal, is now clutching its pearls at the thought that someone else might be better at playing their own game. “They’re eroding our values!” we hear. Oh, really? Which values are those? The ones where you download child abuse images while sipping Earl Grey!! Or the ones where you moralise about democracy while selling arms to questionable regimes?
Chris Patten, the last governor of Hong Kong, is leading the charge against this cultural invasion, warning that Chinese students are a “threat” to British values. This is the same Chris Patten who oversaw Britain’s final imperial swan song, handing Hong Kong back to China while no doubt lamenting the loss of yet another place where the British could do as they pleased. You can almost hear the echoes of colonial days in his voice—“How dare they? We were doing so well civilising the world!” Now, though, it seems the tables have turned, and for the first time in history, the English are realising they’re not the only ones playing the global game of influence.
But let’s not be too harsh. After all, it takes real talent to be this hypocritical. The English have spent centuries perfecting the ability to deliver a scathing insult while smiling pleasantly and asking if you’d like another cup of tea. Diplomacy, they call it. The rest of the world calls it something else. But hey, if it worked in the 17th century, why change now?
So here we are, with Huw Edwards as the fallen hero of British journalism and Chinese students as the new villains of Oxford’s hallowed halls. The English, as always, will muddle through, pretending that their moral compass still points true north, while the rest of us watch, bemused, wondering how they manage to keep a straight face.
Ah yes, the English. Masters of diplomacy, hypocrisy, and of course, inventors of that most British of pastimes—self-delusion.