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Before “it” started, we used to take the Saturday Telegraph so we knew what was happening in the posh bits of Islington and The Cotswolds and The Guardian so we knew what was happening in Camden and in Brighton. We ended up with The Times yesterday. Oh dear.
I guess these childish ramblings, and I guess times are tough in the restaurant world, will get branded “satire” if challenged, but this level of angry disconnected thought seems now to be what passes as national discourse. Having recently watched the Lucy Worsely programme on the Russian revolution, I knew Uncle Joe was a bit of a rotter, but wow.
Anyway, cars are fun and freedom, right Giles…
I’m not against the war on car per se. I drive electric, l cycle, I walk. I’d pull all cars off the road tomorrow and make the whole world carbon neutral now if it were down to me.
What l hate is the pusillanimity. The disingenuousness. It’s the same little Stalins in local government who hate drivers for the freedom and the relative wealth that driving connote – and wear high-vis gilets at home to put the bins out, or empty the dishwasher who just loooooove the coronavirus because of the licence it gives them to restrict people’s basic freedoms and put up yet more signs, feeling a mild tumescence in their BHS Y-fronts as they rubber-stamp an order for 1,000 more special “Covid-19 bus stop” posters from the Pointless intrusive Signage Department.
These neo-Soviet throwbacks want everyone to have a crap time.
[and so on]
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