If you’re in the UK, anywhere in the UK, please imagine yourself levitating, rising on a light mist of my despair. Don’t rise too high, for the clouds are low, and I don’t want your aerial view obscured. Look at the roads – the grey ribbons snaking their way through the grey-green February countryside. Note how scarred are these roads, with dark, irregularly shaped marks, big and small. If the road was your skin, you’d be off to the doctor soonest. See how cars and bikes try to negotiate these lesions. Bobbing and swerving, gingerly they’ll try to slalom their
Putins Conspiratorial Fantasies Are Blowing Back on Him
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