Trust me

I was about to tell you of a wonderful weekend in Devon, the Wembury House vs the Zac Goldsmith team cricket match, the beautiful young girls that watched it, the brilliant party that Zac gave following it, and my disgrace (out second ball) on the field. (I made up for it a bit fielding, injuring myself while trying to save face.) In any case, the Hanbury team won, the sun shone like never before, everyone went home happy, but something has occurred in the meantime that takes precedence over the High life.

Before I begin, however, a word to our loyal readers. As some of you must have guessed by now, Lord Black, the proprietor of The Spectator, and I have had our differences over the years. They’ve been mostly over my pro-Palestinian stance, my at times over-the-top admiration of the Wehrmacht, and the fact that I shoot my mouth off before I think when I believe some outrage has taken place.