I was just traipsing across the fields towards Common Lane, there to collect Boy en route to his St Andrews’ Day F-Blockers’ exhibition match of the Wall Game, when I was accosted by a splendid, Spectator-reading type who’d parked his car next to mine.
‘Are you James Delingpole?’ he asked.
I admitted that I was.
Disagree with half of it, enjoy reading all of it
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