Is the writer Tom Hodgkinson the most despicable human being in the world? Perhaps not. But his book, How to be Idle (Penguin Books, 2005), remains the most offensive publication I have ever read: snobbish, sexist, racist, banal and moralistic, it was of course critically acclaimed by his chums in the media.
One might have expected far more from a man who openly boasts of his knowledge of the "philosophy, fiction, poetry and history of the last three thousand years" [P] than to be told that the working class are gullible and too stupid to delegate or live life according to their own rules. But that, pretty much, is the central message.
He still loves them of course, for he's a man of the people who, when not hiring nannies for the children or contributing articles to The Daily Telegraph, likes nothing better than to listen to the Clash. Tom might have purchased his idleness at the expense of others - those "office girls with lots of make-up" and "immigrants with hard hats" [14] that he refers to - but he's still a punk revolutionary at heart.
Tom loves the homeless too. And, without wanting to over-romanticize them, he thinks it a real shame that they are seen as unfortunates in need of help, rather than happy souls who "do not want a job ... do not want to become middle class ... do not want to keep fixed hours and spend their surplus income in department stores and theme parks" [108]. Tom knows this, because it says so in a song by the Monkees. But is it not peculiarly insulting to be told this by a man who, whilst working at The Guardian on the homes-and-interiors supplement, came up with the line 'staying in is the new going out'?
However, next time a homeless young person approaches, rather than mumble about not having any change, I shall take the opportunity to inform them that they "represent an ideal ... of pure living in the moment, of wandering without destination, of freedom from worldly care" [110].
No need then for more temporary accommodation to be made available, or new houses to be built. No need for hospitals either, because, according to Tom, it's a good thing to be sick: "bodily suffering can improve the mind" [69]. Instead, what we should do is open more pubs and tobacconists: because alcohol makes us into "thinking, feeling, laughing, independent human beings" [113] and smoking "transforms the common man into something more heroic, more complete" [137]. Perhaps the latter is true; but if completion involves developing malignant tumours, I for one would prefer to remain incomplete.
Tom also supports the opening of legalized brothels, because the "quest for liberty" is tied to "the pursuit of sexual freedoms" [194]. In practice, this seems to mean fucking prostitutes, masturbating with pornography, and being raped: "Oh, to lie back and be used and abused! This is surely the secret wish of every sexual slacker" [198].
Not that he advocates too much debauchery as he slips happily towards respectable middle-age. For one thing, he doesn't have enough "energy (or staff!) to get blasted all the time" [222]. And besides, his real pleasure now is getting plenty of sleep in order to "restore body and mind to a comfortable condition" [222]: his bourgeois default setting.
In fact, it was whilst innocently day-dreaming that Tom came up with the idea of starting his own business and forging a successful writing career so that he might have his ideal life. Good for him! But whilst dreaming might be free, one might wonder where he found the capital needed in order to do these things: his professed frugality and thriftiness perhaps? Or was it from his wealthy parents, his famous friends, or his business partner and old school pal, Gavin Pretor-Pinney?
I don't know and I don't really care. But I would like to know why it is Tom Hodgkinson's model of idleness has to involve such naked ambition and colossal conceit. He's not the most despicable human being in the world. But ...
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