Curiosity Didn't Kill The Cat.

It was murder.
Years ago in my youth, as an adventurous carpetbagger, I found myself at a disadvantage; people (again, I use the term loosely) would look at me and suffer from a common and instantaneous delusion that they understood me.
One thing they certainly did understand was that I am the sort of person who is always curious, in my case, the worst sort of curiosity.

What is the worst sort?
I'll tell you. The worst sort of curiosity is the sort which concerns itself only with those things which it finds curious itself.

In other words, interest in yourself.
The scum can appear quite human, and will tolerate any transgression, even murder, as long as you are curious about them.
But if you aren't-yet still display curiosty- then these same people will degenerate like a dully exploding rotten fruit into a state of offended hatred, whining with cheated pride, cheated by the sight of some poor bastard, usually penniless and downtrodden, who has been touched by god and is now trying to travel to some sort of worthwhile destination.
Obviously, apart from the overt hatred to be found in England, there are the cultural delusions which serve to preserve the precarious 'sanity'(at least clinically), of these creatures.
Delusions such as 'the poor will always be with us', or homilies about the duty of the virtuous to suffer, or how money can't buy you happiness; these serve to confirm the status quo which guarantees the mediocre a slice of pie while the people who cooked the pie get screwed up, screwed down, and screwed out of even a crumb of pastry.
"The status quo, that's me!"
And lo, a conformist is born.

Curious people sometimes find answers.
I don't like 'magic' shows.
Smoke and mirrors are the tools used to divert our curiosity into dead ends, so saving them the necessity for murder, which used to be so inconvenient in civilised society.

But subtlety is a dying art, as the barriers to outright oppression tumble like the walls of Jericho before the braying trumpets of bigoted 'outrage'.

There may not be any future in England's dreaming; but nightmares now, that's another matter.
And it matters everywhere.