"And for that, what? Do they fight?" I picture blood on the sand, scrawny refugees spilling out of North Africa in desperation, drowning their way here like ants in a ball, being told that this is how it’s done now, this is asylum: a gladiator’s chance, and all they have to do is rip the eyes off the other man. Immigration reduced by 50 per cent, at a minimum. A perfectly Gordian one: if a puzzle offends you, cut it in half.