Is there a utopia somewhere where pratish idiots are in short supply? Is there a place, a movement, an organisation, a country, an idea, where the foul reek of buffoonery does not offend the smell of the sensible and the sane?
Not among the anti-war crowd in London it seems.
This is a shame. I would be delighted to join a march of solidarity with those who also think the Israel-Lebanon war to be a colossal act of stupidity. But I cannot, because just as Blair’s idiocy should not be taken as a reflection of my views, the goons who hold banners saying “we are all Hezbollah now” make me want to puke.
I cannot come within 100 miles of these people. So whilst they march in London, I am left to sit in Malvern, seething, reading, praying, wondering, helpless. My Dear Leader has ceded his authority to another country, the opposition is silent, and the protesters are sullied by unimaginative cretins who think George Galloway should be beatified and Hassan Nasrallah is the Messiah. Have mercy on our souls.