Little Miss Mediocre and the Yellow Rosette of Convenience

By Nelly Agnes

A story submitted by one of our readers and based on real people.

Once upon a suburb, in a semi-detached sponsored by taxpayers and good intentions, lived a rather unremarkable girl named Clara-May. She wasn't particularly clever, nor stunning, nor troubled enough to be mysterious. Just average. A warm milk kind of human.

We knew her as Little Miss Mediocre.

After muddling through school and a brief stint as a checkout philosopher, Clara-May decided her future wasn’t in tills or trades — it was in ideology. And not the boring kind. No. She threw herself into the intoxicating swirl of hashtags, grievance hierarchies, and the Church of Woke.

First came the victimhood starter pack:

• Poor? Tick.

• Single parent household? Tick.

• Bit chubby growing up? That’s trauma now — tick.

But Clara-May knew something crucial: victimhood without visibility is just complaining. So she moved to London, renamed herself Echo (of course), and studied Politics with Feelings, or something like that. By the end of her degree, she identified as:

• Oppressed.

• Panromantic.

• Spiritually vegan.

All despite still eating KFC and fancying rugby players.

At one point, to secure gold membership in the victimhood hierarchy, she even married a woman. A wedding funded by grants and GoFundMe donations — complete with a "queer love is radical love" banner and pronoun badges for the cake.

But barely a year later, the radical wife was out and a bloke called Dan had moved in. Clara-May reappeared online showing off a new diamond and hashtags like #secondchances and #healingjourney. No explanation. No transition. Just a smooth ideological pivot from sapphic soulmates to “hubby and I at the Christmas market.” It was, in essence, the sexuality version of changing your profile pic for Pride Month and forgetting by July.

Then came the career move: Diversity Engagement Officer at the local university.

What did she do? No one knew. Not even HR. But she did once get a cleaner suspended for whistling the Benny Hill theme song. “Microaggressions,” she whispered, tearfully.

She bought a house (with a joint income and a quiet mortgage subsidy from taxpayers), moved into a “vibrant” village where she complained about the lack of falafel, and began campaigning for cycle lanes no one asked for.

Eventually, even Labour became too “centrist” for her. She pivoted to the Lib Dems, but only “tactically,” to “keep out the Tories.” When pressed on policy, she muttered something about “traffic calming” and “lived experiences of marginalised cyclists.”

The Real Trick?

Lib Dems like Clara-May talk like traffic wardens with a heart, but underneath, they want:

• Meat taxes,

• Language bans,

• And the total erasure of anything considered “problematic” before 2015.

• 
  

They’re the ones who’ll call for “civility in politics,” then label your Nan a bigot for liking toast with butter and a copy of the Mail on Sunday.

They'll swear they’re centrists while hiring climate justice officers for the parish council.

They’ll promise “freedom” — but only the kind approved by a sensitivity reader.

And Little Miss Mediocre? She’s still out there.

Smiling sweetly in her yellow scarf, telling pensioners she just wants to improve the bus timetable — while dreaming of dismantling capitalism and banning ham sandwiches.

The revolution doesn’t always arrive with banners and bricks.Sometimes, it wears a Lib Dem badge and asks if you’ve considered a greener bin.

Little Miss Mediocre IS based on real people, people I know.

It has been fictionalised to protect the guilty.

She is currently employed by a prestigious university near you.

If you recognise yourself in this story, you should attend deradicalisation sessions.

This is my lived experience!

Nelly Agnes