The privileged upper crust have spent hundreds of years running on about their own importance and the importance of their interests and hobbies. Despite the cruel hardships brought onto the working class in their pursuit of their oppressors’ lofty ideals, we have accomplished all that was asked of us. As is the norm, and really with no surprise, whenever the socially superior steer their hobby handcart into a brick wall it’s up to us to yank the wheels back on course. We know we might lose a finger or two but the wealthy and intelligentsia are so pitiable in their childish refusal of reality, it can’t be avoided. Who carried these millions of artifacts out of deadly jungles, who packed them in crates, who donated their bodies, who built the original buildings to house them and who died in the thousands defending them in the last Great War? Come on then, you graduated from Cambridge, you don’t need a house painter to spell it out for you.
So like the parent of an errant child with Children’s Services breathing down his neck, it is up to us to solve the problem. We can not clip Lord Hugely Self Important about the ears so we must find another way. We will just have to come up with something glaringly simple to solve all of the child’s self-induced woes.
Firstly, all this rubbish will have to be electronically catalogued according to size composition, age, purpose etc… Once this enormous database is compiled, with photographs taken and holographic imaging, it will be much easier to sort. Items to be handled will have to be recognized as liquid, solid, hazardous or inert and on and on. The cataloguing process is also hugely vital to the third step which involves offering the artifacts up to a community vote. Displaying each item on a public outdoor jumbo screen with a breakdown of its pertinent details and then doing one of three things with them according to the public's whims:
1. return them to their original culture/group/owner
2. keep them in a conventional museum collection
3. pile drive them
When the huge task is complete, we men of action will brag to one another of our glorious deeds from the dole line. Meanwhile the children will sail about the Mediterranean having completely forgotten our efforts. Still, if ever you pass our radically different and noisy site you might just recall a detail or two of its provenance. You might even offer to buy us a pint. Not that you actually will.