I am not penitent.

In a state of nature, we are cruel beings. We endeavour to cause misery by the very fact of our existence. The very act of our birth, whether it is accompanied by copious amounts of barbiturates or not, creates pain on an unimaginable scale. But by our civilisation, by our education, we are taught to temper our baser instincts. We are taught humility. We are taught kindness. We are civilised. In our civilisation we are reminded that it is in bad taste to mention the dead in anything but the fondest of words. And especially so in my homeland, we are taught to expunge all memory of imperfection from our minds, to hold aloft the memory of the departed as something approaching a singular truth of perfection.

I am confronted by my words. I am accused of abjuring that civilisation to which I owe my livelihood. Yet I am not penitent. I refuse to eat crow. I shall not apologise.

I will not rely on my right to be mean, though I refuse that characterisation for my words. And, yes! I have a right to be mean. So long as I am not slanderous or libelous, I am well within my right to say the meanest things about that which catches my fancy. But, pray tell, what is so mean in employing the words of the Concise Oxford English Dictionary to demonstrate that context is vital to examining the place of the individual in the grand scheme of things?

We are a nation of contradictions. A tiny elite has the wherewithal to support racing teams - racing drivers living the dream. It can afford to take over the public commons for their amusement. It is blameless even when its actions come to grief. It has the capacity to rationalise its every selfish act. Try this one out. "It is Saturday. There are few members of the commuting public heading off to work. Besides, these are not really busy roads. Moreover, our use of these roads will encourage more people to visit our county, spend money in our county, generate revenue and, crucially, jobs. This event is an important part of the economic fabric of our county."

When tragedy strikes, as it must every now and then, we the Others must bow our heads in respectful silence. We must pay obeisance to the fallen great ones. We must elide what we know to be amiss. We must deploy solipsism and cant in the service of civility and good taste. We must not loudly declaim in the agora that the emperor is not habillé. Yet I am not penitent. I refuse to eat crow. I shall not apologise.

My words are not meant to denigrate the one who has crossed the river. If possible, they should help you confront the utterly desolate situation in which a death has occurred. A people called to greatness are misled, lied to and cheated of their future by an elite that promises the moon but instead provides rocks for bread. How can it be that when the fate of millions is in jeopardy once more the nation should mourn a man made famous performing feats those millions can never engage in? How can I allow a tragedy befalling a small elite distract me from seeing the utter incongruity of that same elite's fleecing of a people? I am not penitent. I refuse to eat crow. I shall not apologise.