Civilisational collapse laid bare

(This originally appeared in the print edition of Bournbrook)

IT is often observed that the fall of civilisations or empires is accompanied by bacchanalia, freak-shows and general hedonism.

I recall a woman recounting Berlin in early 1945. Plenty of booze, dancing and fornication supposedly punctuated the frequent bombing raids and lack of food to eat. With the prospect of a few million angry Red Army soldiers rumbling into the neighbourhood at any minute, inhibitions could go swivel.

Other historical examples echo a similar pattern. The fall of Rome didn’t stop the wine flowing, rather it emptied the amphoras all the more quickly. Those last days of the Western Roman Empire are recorded to have been quite the party, barring the unwelcome intrusion of any disgruntled Goths.

With the collapse of the Western Liberal Order now firmly kicking into gear – the process started long ago but the wheels are coming off the increasingly rickety contraption – it is hard not to see similar echoes all around. While London hasn’t been sacked yet and the Ruskis haven’t quite made it to Maidenhead, it’s hard to deny we’re not on the downward slope.

As a rule I try not watch television much. I fear when I turn on I will see some pompous pontificating prat prattling pointlessly on. My girlfriend, however, likes to watch unadulterated rubbish from time to time and I find myself at the mercy of the picture box.

Not long ago, while flicking through the channels, we happened upon Naked Attraction on Channel 4. Any lingering hope I had of our civilisation’s lot being redeemable were snuffed out almost on the spot.

We were confronted with an Australian woman far past her physical prime. Within moments she was demonstrating her much-boasted-about fellatio skills by means of a banana supplied for the task, the gormless hostess of the show gawping on, feigning being impressed.

What a sight: the pits, the nadir, rock bottom. At least, I imagined it could not get much worse. Within a flash – pardon the soon-to-be-clear pun – the camera cut to a wide shot. Behind the shameless Sheila stood a row of naked men, their undressed form revealed from the waist-down.

For those who have not seen the show (oh, how ignorance is bliss!) let me explain the premise. Someone, usually describing themselves as ‘looking for love’ comes onto the show and stands in front of six screens. Behind the screens stand men/women/non-binaries (yes, it caters for all) from which the hopeless romantic must eventually choose someone to go on a date with.

Yet, instead of speaking to them, the show boasts that it does ‘dating in reverse’. This means revealing the body of the potential suitors in stages: first from below the waist, then below the neck, then the head, and only being allowed to speak in the final round. At each stage one is eliminated.

There is so much to hate in one programme that it is hard to summarise neatly. In essence, this programme explains so much about what is horrendously wrong with our society.

It boasts that the ‘end point’ of dating is merely the sexual act. That it could be the preliminary stage to starting a stable, loving family is naturally rarely alluded to.

When it is, it is scarcely seems to occur to the perennially ‘unlucky-in-love’ that winding up on a dating show with all your kit off might be the kind of behaviour contributing to such lovelessness. When one’s decision whether to go on a date with another is predicated upon the unevenness of their testicular droop, true love is unlikely to result.

It is doubtful, of course, that many go on to find ‘true love’. More principally the show is all about ‘me, me, me’. All too many contestants bask in that most modern pursuit of trying to appear interesting by having non-standard sexual preferences or gender pronouns.

Observe the ‘pansexual female’ and ‘gender non-binary’ going on a date. Two self-obsessed, many-pronouned youths clamouring to display their individuality by latching onto society’s latest corrupt bandwagon. Strip away the verbiage and you are left with the bare, boring fact that it was just a man and a woman going on a date.

Perhaps even more alarming is the state of the nation’s waistlines. A majority of those on the show are in their twenties. For the females involved, their dress sizes are of a similarly high number, and for the men, their weight in stones. Never, however, is the girth of one’s gut a grounds for expulsion from the show: when eliminating a fatty the most benign of reasons are always found, never once alluding to their thunderous thighs. Being the most tedious woke and body-positive of shows, the 18-stone 21-year-old female is as adulated at the one who eats well and looks after herself.

I could go on, but I shouldn’t. Maybe I’m reading into it all too much – perhaps it’s all just mindless entertainment. Somehow, however, I don’t think it’s quite so mundane. If only it were. Instead, behind all those body parts on constant display, all I can see is the very bottom of the societal and civilisational barrel being scraped clean.