Sorry to all the folks who read 1984 in the fog of schoolroom boredom. Fuck, Aldous Huxley wrote about drugs, and sixties popstars were all over him. All poor Eric got was some biker trying to find his Rudge on Jura.
Oh no, I've said a naughty word; will I have a job this time next week?
"The messy fudge of the commission's proposals and their arbitrary nature are subject to a number of significant flaws which make them demonstrably inferior to the fiscal levers available to an independent country."
Forgive me for for rehashing an old post, the above statement from the SNP made me do it.
And the voices.
John Bull's condiment of choice, perfect for the Union of British bullshit and Scots bread; slather it on thick, but keep oil out of the recipe.