You are of course unspeakably correct on the "throwing 200 years of diplomacy away" bollocks.
You are, by inference, unspeakably correct on the corollary, which is that everybody and their Beloved National Auntie is desperately trying to ignore the unfortunate truth, and what the hell, cretinous mud-slinging and headlines can't hurt, can they?
You are correct in that Germany will never, ever, subtract that additional pint. (I believe I argued with Nicholas Whyte a year or two ago that it was an essential ingredient. Still, I don't expect that anybody much listens to Nicholas, either.)
I'm sorry, but I despair of this country. Whichever way you look, and whoever you listen to, we're fucked. It's down to survival, mate. Translate your poker skills into gambling against Euro nutters (various French banks come to mind, although it would be unfair to leave the Germans out), and you could at least ride the crisis out.
But, to more important things. Spending my week in the Hole of Hell, as I do (last week was Clerkenwell and the number 38 bus, which was blessedly disease-free compared to the Tube), may I recommend a Hot Toddy?
Not with Rum, obviously. But I think you could concoct such a thing with lemon juice and cloves and whatever Tate & Lyle black treacle your current diet plan allows. A quick snort of tabasco and I think this might help.
Well, it worked for me. But then again I've missed out the horse tranquilisers that the River Cafe normally insists upon.
Pah! Those people are agricultural, and know nothing of City life.
They _Pay_ People For This?
You are of course unspeakably correct on the "throwing 200 years of diplomacy away" bollocks.
You are, by inference, unspeakably correct on the corollary, which is that everybody and their Beloved National Auntie is desperately trying to ignore the unfortunate truth, and what the hell, cretinous mud-slinging and headlines can't hurt, can they?
You are correct in that Germany will never, ever, subtract that additional pint. (I believe I argued with Nicholas Whyte a year or two ago that it was an essential ingredient. Still, I don't expect that anybody much listens to Nicholas, either.)
I'm sorry, but I despair of this country. Whichever way you look, and whoever you listen to, we're fucked. It's down to survival, mate. Translate your poker skills into gambling against Euro nutters (various French banks come to mind, although it would be unfair to leave the Germans out), and you could at least ride the crisis out.
But, to more important things. Spending my week in the Hole of Hell, as I do (last week was Clerkenwell and the number 38 bus, which was blessedly disease-free compared to the Tube), may I recommend a Hot Toddy?
Not with Rum, obviously. But I think you could concoct such a thing with lemon juice and cloves and whatever Tate & Lyle black treacle your current diet plan allows. A quick snort of tabasco and I think this might help.
Well, it worked for me. But then again I've missed out the horse tranquilisers that the River Cafe normally insists upon.
Pah! Those people are agricultural, and know nothing of City life.