I was at a debate at the Institute of Economic Affairs last week when the speaker next to me — a preening, prickly chap with a moustache and hugely self-important manner — took it upon himself to apprise the assembled throng of the most extraordinary fact: apparently, James Delingpole is nowhere near as good at delivering Ronald Reagan quotes as Ronald Reagan was.
‘As I can testify from experience,’ he added, impressively, ‘having heard Reagan speak on several occasions.’
‘Gosh!’ I thought to myself. And again ‘Gosh!’ I’m often taken aback when complete strangers decide to have a go at me personally in debates. ‘Hey, you don’t even know me,’ I want to say. ‘For all you know I might be incredibly nice.’ But the thing that shocked me this time wasn’t so much the gratuitousness of his ad hom as its almost cherishably fatuous lameness.
No doubt I would have been even more impressed if he’d accused me of not having as large breasts as Dolly Parton, or of being nowhere near as well-endowed as Seventies porn legend John ‘King Dong’ Holmes, or of being a sight uglier than babesome alleged Russian spy Anna Chapman.
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