And so the summer reading season begins again. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . And so we come to the end of a week in which we have been made a pariah people, a darkness among nations, a shame and a stain and a blot and a laughing-stock. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fame makes us ill. Extremely ill if we have it. You don't get far, imagining a fair society, without constructing some ideal contract, what we owe to one another, the rules to which everyone of us must adhere, else we are not playing the same game. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Rats are natural.
So are snakes. Last week literature, this week nature - let no one accuse this column of shirking the big issues. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Easier said than done, I know, but we could start with something simple, such as demanding the withdrawal of that ugly Barclays ad trumpeting the advantages of capitalism writ BIG. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .