It’s nice to be back on the old continent again, especially after getting within a couple of hundred yards of the phoniest bunch of Hollywood East types, fakes with names such as Pelosi, Schumer, Schiff and their ilk. It meant that I flew out of the Bagel without mixed feelings for a change. America has become unrecognisable, a violent land where a Democratic Congress winks at riots and intimidations by the left, and where career criminals are seen as victims. It is a place in which one’s livelihood can end with one slip of the tongue. And they call it a free country.
Over here, in lefty old London, everyone’s against Boris, but telling whoppers over a party or two – or even ten – cannot compare to the lies Blair told to justify waging a war in which hundred of thousands of human beings died. Or does it? I find it amazing that Blair is given the Garter, while Boris might soon be shown the door. I am against lying, and didn’t lie when customs asked me if I was carrying almost 40 years ago. But asked to choose between a cake and thousands of dead, I’ll take the cake any day.
And speaking of leaders, Macron recently caught hell for asking us not to rub Putin’s nose in the dirt, but I’m afraid the Frog was right. Biden knows how to spout slogans reading a teleprompter; Boris plays the tough guy in order to make them forget the cake. But Macron understands the world. I haven’t read much about the French president, but I think I understand him. He’s a bit of a con man, but so what? I like Mme Macron: she’s old, elegant and she’s got good legs.
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