Back

I think I’ve put my finger on what coming back to the UK feels like. If an actual nation state could be suffering from clinical depression, this is what it would look like: Everything is slowly going to shit; the country seems to see no future for itself; it’s making decision after decision that is self neglect bordering on self harm; quite possibly the most unpopular government to be removed by democratic vote rather than bloodshed is about to lose an election by a cataclysmic margin, and when the opposition, who are set to clean up, are asked what they’re going to do differently, the answer is a shrug followed by, “nothing”.

And people here more or less accept it, because boiling frogs and suchlike, but then you go elsewhere (no, America, not you, sit back down), and it’s like the colour returns to the world and you didn’t even realise it was missing.