It had been going so well. I’d walked down the aisles of the supermarket with my new belt-tightening brain in gear. Past the empty calories of sugar. Past the booze (never – thank gaia – a need of mine). And I’ve even signed up for membership of the Co-op at last. I bought sensible stuff. I was strong.
Then I went to the newsagent. Just to test my willpower of course. By looking at the weekend FT (£3 – less than a pint) and not buying it. I wrestled mightily, but I, um, weakened (see what I did there?). I decided that Gillian Tett and Simon Kuper were worth it. And I handed over my coi…. HOLY CRAP. Does that say “Plus Noam Chomsky: truth teller or anti-US crank? Lunch with the FT” under the masthead???
Yes it does. OMFG.
And the piece, by John McDermott, the FT’s executive comment editor, is not a hatchet job. Which is more “evidence” for my “theory” – based on the many positive reviews of anarchist and libertarian socialist artists and authors – that there is a secret cell of comsymps in the arts section.