The days are drawing in, and the pleasant novelty of feeling ever so slightly chilly outside is fading with it. Britain’s populist right is divided and the timeline gets less readable by the day. Trump pre-emptively denies the mid-term elections, and yet, the old animal spirits of January 6th are barely stirred.
Friends. We have been in rougher seas and we will come out of the storm on the other side. You must always believe. Always have a sense of forward momentum. Always have hope that if you keep reading and paying for the words that I write then at some point the grooming gang bomalians will be taken from post-industrial cities in the North of England are cast out, that we shall make a new Thermopylae and not become one with Nineveh and Tyre.
So we must find the silver linings where we can and so I want to share something which has warmed by shivering, sodden bones. Life sprang when I saw this xost on my timeline:
After many years of being a man in Britain I have had to accept, however begrudgingly, that there is a proportion of mankind who find Football interesting and have strong opinions about seemingly interchangeable corporate entities like Liverpool and Chelsea. It still sickens me when well educated people buy into it, either to affect a boorish faux-working class persona or because they are investing their exquisite minds into this dreck whilst so many worthy books and articles go sadly unread. One of the many redeeming features of the opposite sex for most of my life has been their stern refusal to care about chav kickabout and greater interest in reading fiction (with all appropriate caveats).
