This is a picture of Garibaldi, the man who liberated Rome from the 'Infallible' pope.
A man so fierce they named a biscuit after him.
Crunch!
Anyway, back in England we need liberating too.
Britain is the biggest open prison I know of, with walls of citizenship 100 years thick and 10 years high.
It restrains every aspect of natural life and channels it into distorted deformations of social convention which allow enough light into people's lives so that they can feel the agony without it ever letting up on them.
After sixty-five years of being struck over the head, suffocated and led by the ear, the British finally retire and have the time and freedom to realise what a bunch of crap they've been sold; by which time it is too late.
But hope springs eternal in the human breast, and these humans are no exception; they hope, beyond all education, truth, facts and reality that their children might do better, or even their grandchildren, and so they educate them to the ways of the beast, bequeathing ineffective bitterness and out-of-date ideologies, sending the young into energetic departures tempered by non-existent understanding and bound by elastic chains into returning to the established order of orbit.
And so the farce continues, and the fairly secret controllers see the sympathy with which the world treats the trapped, British downtrodden, and become Hugh Grant every time they are seen in order to make foreign people thing they are imagining it all.
Well; it's not good enough.
Not for me.
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