We are told that one cabinet minister decided to back this odious sell-out of a deal — the worst of all worlds — when he learned that there was a small risk that in the event of proceeding on WTO terms (itself a very small risk) there might be a brief period in which it would be difficult to source two ingredients for Mars Bars. What kind of a country is this? Are we going to abandon a thousand years of national self-rule, and adopt foreign laws — over which we have no control — because we cannot be fagged to make whatever preparations are necessary for the microscopic risk of us running out of Mars Bars? There may have been times in the last century when the government of Britain has looked more pathetic, but I can’t think what they are.
I looked at this nice but disapproving French doctor and I resolved, like Gandhi, to be the change I wanted to see. I have not only laid off the Mars Bars; I have axed the cheese. I breakfast like some Georgian hermit on porridge with a luxury sprinkling of nuts. At drinks parties I guzzle water and marvel at the Pinteresque slowness with which we come to the point. Is it working? You bet it is.