Weary, slack-jointed, low-hearted as they were, the deadly coast-fever fell upon them, and they shivered, and burned,and groaned,and raved, and leaped into holes, or rolled into campfires.
The sums are so vast, the secrecy so shocking, that “chumocracy” doesn’t begin to capture what Britain has become – redolent as we are of banana republics, the Russian oligarchy and failed states.
That sometimes from the savage den, And sometimes from the darksome shade, And sometimes staring up at once In green and sunny glade.
I need to have a wee
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