by Sean Gabb
Just back from three weeks in Slovakia. I could write an epic poem about the homeward drive through Europe – a whole book would be devoted to the increasingly sleazy aspect of the German motorway services, and the increasingly dangerous driving of people whose cars have been registered in places like Holland and Germany. However, I will merely note that, despite 24 hours without sleep, I am watching the closing “ceremony” of the Olympic Games. It’s nearly as bad as the opening. All that restrains me from calling for a military coup is the knowledge that the Army probably couldn’t win a pitched battle with the pigs – oh, and the litre bottle of 47.5 per cent gin I picked up on the cross Channel ferry….
