And the winner is…a loser. Such is the world of climate obsessives.
I did wonder if it was worth running this years competition, because it seemed to me there would be little or nothing in the way of any excitement occurring, since there only appeared to be one horse in the race, and he was already galloping over the horizon before it had even began.
The rest would be plodding along miles behind him, morosely contemplating not so much a race track ahead of them but a road sloping down to end inexorably at the gates of the knacker’s yard, out of which they would be reemerging as either glue or inside tins of guaranteed organic dog food.
All through the year there’s been a real dearth of dedicated monomaniac climate prats. It was like a team fallen on hard times with the best of their talent permanently injured or retired out of the game altogether. Where were the great free-range climate prats of the golden age? The Hansons…
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