I'm an anarchist... Get me out of here!

How to bring about chaos and alienate people

Sep 24, 2025

When all goes to shit, you’ll probably find me on Primrose Hill (or Hampstead Heath)

For reasons that would be too long to explain but may or may not have to do with a certain agent of chaos who shall not be named on this publication but also with the fact that I’m feverish and my body aches as if I had been run over by a truck, over the past few days I’ve been thinking (maybe just being delirious?) about a very important question: Where would I like to be when the world crushes and burns around me?

I’m undecided between Hampstead Heath and Primrose Hill as they both are very privileged enclaves (quite literally) from where to observe London at a distance and from the top of a hill. I have pictured the scene like a convivial gathering, perhaps a re-enactment of those who witnessed the Great Fire of London in 1666 not knowing what was going on but unable to keep their eyes away from the impressive blaze and cloud of dark smoke that formed in the horizon as someone tried to steal their stale bread in the dark or, why not, impregnate them against their will.

I wouldn’t exclude similar behaviours in a modern apocalypse get together because, unfortunately, after the pandemic most people have completely forgotten basic manners and how to behave in public. Suffice as an example that modern crime that is using phones without headphones.

Maybe I am romanticising the situation a bit.

It may be the effects of the fever although I admit I have a tendency to do that even when perfectly healthy and it has been the source of many disappointments when things and events turn out to be far more prosaic than I had envisioned them in my mind, which I feel it’s probably how the end of the world as we know it would unfold in the XXI century. But because my chosen location to see the world collapse is in London, and people in the UK are pretty unfazed by big historical events, I think it’d be a very unassuming affair. After all, this is a country which picked “Keep Calm and Carry On” as a motto while bombs were falling down on them every other day.

Maybe there will be a polite exchange, like when you go to the office kitchen for a coffee and someone you don’t know is already there making tea so the two of you know it’s time for the “You alright there?-Yeah, all good. You?-Not too bad” dance even if none of you really know each other’s names. After that, everyone will descend once again into a polite silence and avoid eye contact at all costs because one shouldn’t forget good manners. And of course there will be someone on a video call without headphones on, who is shouting at the screen as the line keeps breaking, and who didn’t get the memo that this is not another ordinary journey to Seven Sisters on the 29 but a ride towards our final destination. I only wish that whoever decides not to suffer in silence doesn’t end up on my hill. Otherwise their end may arrive slightly sooner than mine.

In all seriousness, I do believe that a special occasion deserves a special celebration. I don’t know about you but I have never witnessed the fabric of society slowly tear apart in front of me before and I would like to remember the occasion. Not that I am going to survive it to tell anyone how it was like, but still it’s nice to have a ritual that signals the end of an era and the beginning of an existential void.

Given the cost of living, I doubt anyone has the budget for a final blast 1666 style. However, London’s MBND club (that is the millionaires, billionares and the non-doms that have spent fortunes turning their mansions into iceberg homes) could definitely chip in to give us some decent fireworks. It’s the bare minimum. Let them eat brioche1 and all that. But by then they will have probably crossed the world in their private jets to hide in their secret underground bunkers and binge-watch I’m a Celebrity… Get Me Out of Here. I wouldn’t be surprised if they find it all rather amusing.

Failing the fireworks, maybe the radio could play some classical music. I have it on good authority that military marches are a big hit when the government is on its knees and the democratic institutions that sustained it and veiled for citizens’ rights have vanished, wiped out by populism and the politics of big, empty slogans parroted by buffoons. In my humble opinion, Back in the USSR would be a fantastic final sendoff, very tongue-in-cheek, but I concede that then The Beatles would remain tainted with the connection to the collapse of Western civilisation and I wouldn’t be able to listen to Here Comes the Sun with the same conviction. That’s probably why military marches are the only acceptable option in these situations in order to avoid spoiling any other musical genre in case a miracle happens last minute.

In more practical matters, when all goes to shit, I assume we would all probably assault businesses and pillage supermarkets as an ultimate attempt to revolt and fight for our rights, an homage to the spirit of the commune in 1871 or the London riots in 2011. Unfortunately I wasn’t around for the first and I remained a bit oblivious to the latter so in the off chance you took part (in the riots, not in the commune, that’d be quite a life achievement), I have an important question: Is it better to secure first needs, like food, or wants, like toilet paper?

On this note, it’d be a good idea to run a survey before it’s too late on how many people still have heaps of unopened toilet rolls at home that they won’t be finishing in this lifetime so that the rest of us can have a fair chance to wipe our bottoms while we shit ourselves with the fear of the unknown.

As for essential energy supplies like electricity, gas and water, given that some of the resources in the UK aren’t controlled by the state but by offshore private companies, I guess service and access would remain unaffected although they may in part depend on the level of tax deductions our eventual ruler, who has probably promised to save billions to the UK taxpayer, has been able to guarantee in his (it’s always a he) ascend to power to those who control our supplies.

I’m no expert in buttering up the rich and powerful but I wouldn’t discard personal affinity as a key factor influencing whether we can afford gas to use the hob for 30 minutes a day (I predict Jamie Oliver’s 15 minute meals becoming quite popular so keep it in mind for your first bookshop rampage) or water and electricity to do the washing machine (short cycle, once a week tops) and shower quickly (5 minutes, cold water of course). If I had to bet, I’d say a shared love for fox/deer hunting, cigars, private jets, and tax havens could pave the way for more competitive energy prices (not necessarily for us), mutual understanding, open avenues of collaboration, and potential synergies. Apologies for the slip of the tongue. When I need to say something absolutely vague but dressed in a veneer of importance I default to speaking LinkedInish.

By the way, I would like to clarify that I am by no means judging anyone here. I’m a ‘you do you’ kind of person.

In fact, tax havens and other means to circumvent paying taxes that may keep basic services for all citizens working regardless of their income (but especially to support those less favoured by the system) are probably a must for anyone intent on sabotaging the state because with the amount of plebs that will start complaining about the cost of living, expecting that you carry out the measures you’ve promised and maybe trying to demand an explanation once you fail to deliver (the cheek people have these days, seriously!), you can’t risk funding a sinking ship with your hard-earned money nor having it in a regular bank that is probably on the brink of collapse -like everything else- due to the instability you’ve brought about.

Better stash it somewhere far and away, easily accessible and ideally untraceable by authorities, just in case you need to quietly slip away to your bunker in your private jet at a moment’s notice if things get too out of control, such as people all of a sudden expecting any accountability from you.

As for our ultimate ruler in power when the world as we know it turns to dust, I picture someone who thrives on bringing about anarchy and chaos, driven not so much by being in government but by the idea of sabotaging it. Because I’ve never held any position of power in my life, least of all the type that has the potential to undermine democratic values and dismantle the state and its institutions just with the use of inflammatory propaganda and empty slogans, I can only speculate how such a person would behave. However, if I’ve learned anything after years attending corporate events, is that it’s all about priorities when you reach the top.

So if I were in his shoes, I reckon that to unwind from the burden of being such a magnetic leader who unleashes heated passions among the masses firing messages of terror, I would escape the world from time to time to hide in my nice little bunker, where I will probably end up watching I’m a Celebrity… because noblesse oblige. Who knows, maybe I am in it and all, blabbing about the wonderful life I do lead and how I wouldn’t have it any other way.

In fact, if I had to guess how I have ascended to power in first place and convinced people there is no other feasible alternative but me, my money is on dominating the media discourse early on and winning people’s hearts by bombarding them with propaganda. If ain’t broke, don’t fix it, you know what I mean? Also, being a media star has never been incompatible with politics. Quite the opposite actually when you think about it. Just make sure to stay away from shows where people disagree with you or insist on challenging you with facts and data and you’ll be fine.

After a few days of bunker and chill, I suppose it’d be wise to avoid taking the ferry on the way back in case those “Stop the boats” slogans actually work. Can you imagine the memes if I got stopped? Better to take the jet again instead. Yes, it pollutes more but honestly, if the world as we know it is in tatters because I’m an anarchist geezer that gets off on seeing destruction around me, am I going to worry about my carbon footprint now that the end credits are about to roll?

Back at my usual place of command, I imagine I’d get down to work at once, picking up agitation and social unrest where I left them, brainstorming new inspiring slogans such us “See it, Say it, Deport it,2” to make it easier to report any suspicious looking person (it is implied non-White, but non-British in general is also fine because you don’t want to be too narrow-minded). A stroke of genius in case people may think I am only a charlatan blurting out nonsense who has led them to mayhem just for the lols and without any real plan to implement tangible measures. There may be some broken families here and there, and maybe it’s a gigantic shitshow from the legal point of view, and most likely it will result in a climate of hostility towards the UK (you may need to give up those holidays in Benidorm, Margaret) but no one said it’d be easy to be me.

After the dust on my victory has settled, I would probably have second thoughts on why I should be deem responsible for how well other non-deportable people (as in non-trustafarians, because believe it or not they not only exist but vote!) do under my rule when my livelihood and that of my dependents is perfectly assured and not dependent on the ups and downs of the global economy and much less on the stability of the government, not even my own.

About six months into government, for lack of a better word, it’ll be time to plan my way out because my job here will be done.

Before making my exit, however, I would make sure to kick off conversations with the highest bidders on how to dismantle services that have resisted the last push of privatisation for reasons quite frankly beyond my understanding, such as the NHS. A selfish thought if there ever was one but, in all honesty, is it my fault to be so charismatic that people -of their own free will I remind you- have put me first on a media and then on a political pedestal and have become so incapacitated to understand what I actually mean when I speak as to bestow their trust on me? It doesn’t sound like a me problem.

Paraphrasing Italian influencer Chiara Ferragni’s famous last words3 “I never wanted to be famous. That wasn’t my goal. I just wanted to do something meaningful,” I never wanted to be a politician. That wasn’t my goal. I just wanted to bring about anarchy and then leave it to you to clean up the mess while I fuck off to my bunker and watch myself being a sexy motherfucker on TV.

When enough time will have passed for you to have forgotten about the chaos I have unleashed, because you will eventually forget, I’ll come back to convince you that I can do more and better, ignoring that I actually can’t because I burnt all the bridges the first time around and now I have no viable escape route for my empty promises. But you see, the thrill of manipulating normal people into thinking I can actually solve their problems is rather exhilarating. When you think they won’t fall for it again, bam, there they go head in. It’s quite amusing to watch, actually.

When this moment arrives, the few among you who for some reason still remember my previous antics would probably be asking yourselves “Are we seriously going to let him fuck us over one more time and do nothing about it?”

The only thing I have to say to you is don’t be a party pooper. It’ll be fun. At least for me.

Right. I probably should stop here.

The fever has definitely gone up now.

Abroad is an independent publication about London, living in between cultures, languages, books, music, films, creativity, and being human in the age of artificial intelligence.

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Which is what Marie-Antoinette actually said in the original French “ Qu’ils mangent de la brioche” and which she probably regretted given how events unfolded afterwards.

Not to be confused with “See it, Say it, Sorted” as heard on the tube in London.

And forever regretted after the scandals she’s since been involved in