#Weston-super-Mare. First, There Was the Stone Age, Then the Bronze Age, the Iron Age, and now the 'Stupid Age.'

The Fragile Generation: So Easily Offended, They're Now Verging On The Need of Trigger Warnings for Seagull Noises.

Indeed! Let's not mince words, shall we? This societal clutching of pearls over every perceived transgression isn't merely a case of comedic illiteracy; it reeks of a profound and frankly rather tiresome weakness. It speaks volumes about a collective fragility, a societal epidermis so thin that even the gentlest breeze of an opposing viewpoint causes a rash of indignation. This isn't about principled disagreement; it's about an ingrained inability to cope with the fact that the world doesn't universally subscribe to one's own meticulously curated worldview. And in a manner that truly defines our current, shall we say, era, this fragility seems amplified by the very tools that were meant to enlighten us.

So, it seems, my fellow purveyors of pointed barbs, that we find ourselves in a world increasingly bereft of the nuanced understanding required to navigate the treacherous waters of wit and irony. Like yourself, and indeed, dare I say, a select few others who still cling to the antiquated notion of using humour to illuminate societal absurdities, Katie Hopkins often employs satire as her weapon of choice. Yet, the reaction! Oh, the drama! It's as if the collective funny bone has atrophied, replaced by a hypersensitive nerve ending that twitches violently at the slightest deviation from the prescribed narrative – a phenomenon undoubtedly exacerbated by the echo chambers and instant outrage cycles of our "Stupid Age."

That's a thought-provoking way to look at our current era. The Stone Age, Bronze Age, and Iron Age are defined by the primary materials that shaped technology and society. If we were to define our time by a dominant characteristic, "Stupid Age" certainly captures a prevailing sentiment about the misuse or overwhelming nature of information and technology.

And at the heart of this manufactured outrage, wouldn't you agree, lies a rather pathetic inflation of the ego? Every satirical jab, every ironic observation, every gently mocking portrayal is instantly transmuted into a personal affront. It's as if individuals believe themselves to be the sole arbiters of truth and decency, and any deviation from their personal dogma is not just wrong, but a direct assault on their very being. The idea that a satirist might be aiming at a broader societal ill, or even just indulging in a bit of harmless exaggeration, is utterly lost in this self-centred maelstrom of offense. "How dare you suggest such a thing exists in the world when I don't like it?" seems to be the prevailing sentiment, a sentiment undoubtedly fueled by the constant barrage of unfiltered opinions that characterise our burgeoning "Stupid Age."

This hypersensitivity, this knee-jerk reaction to anything that doesn't align with one's own echo chamber, is a clear indicator of a society that has grown soft. We've seemingly forgotten the resilience of spirit that allows one to hear a challenging idea, perhaps even disagree vehemently with it, and yet still maintain one's composure and intellectual integrity. Instead, we have cultivated a culture where feeling offended is not just acceptable, but almost a badge of honour. It's a convenient way to shut down discourse, to avoid engaging with uncomfortable truths, and to ultimately retreat into the comforting embrace of self-righteous indignation – all readily facilitated by the echo chambers of our digital landscape. And for satirists like ourselves, it presents a rather peculiar challenge: how do you poke fun at a world that seems determined to take itself with such humourless, fragile seriousness, especially when that seriousness is so often amplified and distorted by the very technologies that define our "Stupid Age"?

Take Weston-super-Mare! A jewel of the Somerset coast, now apparently sparkling with the incandescent outrage one expects when a slightly topical biscuit of controversy like Katie Hopkins rolls into town. It seems the good burghers are in a right kerfuffle, and honestly, darling, isn't it just the perfect microcosm of our times? Here we have a society so thoroughly marinated in the sweet and sour sauce of victimhood that even the booking of a theatre show becomes an existential threat. One can almost picture the fainting couches being dusted off and the smelling salts being liberally applied as the news rippled through the tea rooms and amusement arcades. The horror! The audacity! A person with opinions different from one's own daring to occupy a public space! It's enough to make one clutch one's pearls and demand the immediate cancellation of reality itself, lest someone, somewhere, feel a tiny little prickle of discomfort – a discomfort, mind you, often inflamed by the very online spaces that contribute to our collective "Stupidity."

And let's not forget the dramatic pronouncements from the local council, self-anointed guardians of all that is pure and virtuous. Their recent declaration as a 'council of sanctuary' – a title so lofty it practically demands a choir of angels and a gentle breeze – now clashes spectacularly with the booking at the Grand Pier. One can almost hear the collective gasp: "How can we possibly offer sanctuary whilst simultaneously allowing someone with… gasp …views to speak?" The cognitive dissonance is apparently so profound that some residents are reportedly experiencing spontaneous fits of interpretive outrage in protest. It's a truly magnificent display of societal angst, where the mere possibility of encountering an opinion one dislikes is treated as an unbearable assault, a personal affront on par with a seagull stealing your chips. This, in essence, is the "Stupid Age" in action: an inability to reconcile differing viewpoints within the same geographical (or digital) space.

Ultimately, this whole Weston-super-Mare saga serves as a glorious, slightly soggy reminder of our collective descent into the Theatre of Perpetual Offense. We've become so exquisitely attuned to the slightest tremor of disagreement that we've seemingly forgotten how to engage, debate, or simply… ignore. The outrage industry thrives, fueled by a potent cocktail of social media echo chambers and an insatiable appetite for feeling wronged. This, of course, is a key characteristic of our "Stupid Age": Information Overload, where every dissenting voice is amplified to a deafening roar, making it difficult to filter or discern meaningful discourse. The ease of spreading information online has also led to the rapid dissemination of false or misleading content – Misinformation and Disinformation – further muddying the waters of public opinion and contributing to the very outrage we observe in Weston-super-Mare. The constant stimulation and the rapid pace of digital communication may be contributing to Shortened Attention Spans, making nuanced understanding and thoughtful engagement with complex issues increasingly rare. And the way information is consumed and shared online often reinforces existing biases and contributes to Tribalism and Polarisation, turning a local theatre booking into a battleground of ideological warfare.

So, as the curtain (eventually) rises on Ms. Hopkins' show, perhaps we should all take a moment to reflect on whether our relentless pursuit of perfect emotional safety, amplified by the very technologies that define our "Stupid Age," is actually turning us into a nation of exquisitely fragile porcelain dolls, forever teetering on the brink of shattering at the slightest breeze of a differing viewpoint. Perhaps future historians will look back at our time and try to define it by a more neutral or objective characteristic, but the feeling that we are sometimes drowning in a sea of unfiltered or misused information is definitely a prevalent one today.

It's rather telling, isn't it? This inability to discern the wink beneath the word, the exaggeration for effect. Instead of a wry chuckle or a thoughtful pause, we are met with the digital equivalent of pitchforks and torches, all wielded by individuals who seem to have misplaced their capacity for critical thought somewhere between their morning scroll and their latest outrage tweet. The very act of satire, which historically served as a vital tool for social commentary, holding a mirror (albeit a distorted one) up to our follies, is now frequently mistaken for a literal endorsement of the views being lampooned. It's as if one were to accuse Jonathan Swift of genuinely advocating the consumption of infants simply because he penned "A Modest Proposal." The subtlety, the delicious absurdity, is simply lost on a significant portion of the populace, a populace increasingly conditioned by the rapid-fire, context-free nature of information dissemination in our "Stupid Age."

And we've hit the nail squarely on the head, haven't we? The grown-up response of yesteryear – a raised eyebrow, a dismissive snort, perhaps even a hearty guffaw at the sheer ridiculousness of it all – has been replaced by this fervent need to be perpetually offended. It's as though victimhood has become the new black, an endlessly versatile garment that can be donned at the slightest perceived slight. The idea that one might simply disagree with a viewpoint, find it unpalatable, and then… move on with one's day seems utterly foreign. No, no, that won't do at all! The only acceptable response is outrage, demands for censorship, and the fervent declaration that one has been personally and irreparably harmed by the mere existence of an opinion they dislike. It's a curious phenomenon, this societal shift from robust debate to the delicate art of performative offense, a shift undeniably accelerated by the very nature of communication and information consumption in what we might, with a touch of sardonic accuracy, call the "Stupid Age."