AND FINALLY

Toughen up, wimpy snowflakes!

THIS is written at the end of a bad day. You don’t need to know why — even if I had space. A sorrowful anniversary, acute anxiety over a family member . . . and general pessimism.

Not to mention getting lost in the car in the dark and the frustration of dealing with inefficient BT (such things shorten life). So what’s the solution — apart from screaming?

Well, as well as a stiff drink, my usual antidote is a book. Like the latest (The River In The Sky) by brilliant Clive James, who is dying but still writing gloriously, with enough complex courage and style to lift the spirits.

Yes — and people often say reading this column is a perfect antidote to self-pity. They might realise their problems are slight compared with the woes of others — or perhaps just realise the importance of resilience in the face of life’s travails.

Not so today’s wimpy students. Most of you will share my disbelief (and anger) that university authorities are actively seeking to protect the allegedly intelligent young from things that could make them cry. Like literature that deals with tragedy, cruelty, grief, suffering, wickedness etc.

Sheffield University actually includes death and bereavement in its list of ‘sensitive and controversial issues’, while Newcastle says the poor wee pets ought to be able to duck out of exam subjects that upset them. What a brilliant snowflake scam! Students have actually expressed panic over material in literature courses. Poor old Shakespeare, eh?

As one who deals regularly with the problems of others (as well as my own), I want to shout from atop the dreaming spires that there is no such thing as a safe space. Nowhere. Why, as soon as you love you open yourself to real danger. Try anything and you run the risk of failure.

Nothing can protect us from stress, pain and loss. Wild creatures hunt and eat each other or starve. Light is always underpinned by darkness — and life is damned difficult. But it must be dealt with.