The Great Green Field Grab: Because Who Needs Towns When You’ve Got Meadows?
Here lie the mouldering remains of yesterday’s headlines — carefully embalmed in sarcasm, lightly perfumed with despair, and stacked neatly in coffins of questionable relevance.
Within these shadowed vaults you shall find:
Outrage long past its sell-by date.
Broken promises, gently decomposing.
Satirical bones rattling for your amusement.
Browse at your peril: for here, amidst the cobwebs, you will discover that nothing truly dies in Britain — except perhaps optimism. Read It Again… Because No One Read It the First Time.
