BREXIT
SIMON LINCOLN READER: Spare me the racket across the channel
I back British stagecraft to succeed, despite threats from people such as Tony Blair or the irrelevant liberal democrats
The first time the sound of something made me physically ill occurred in Holland recently. I was in a medieval (read: rubbish) saloon when it slapped me; I found the culprit immediately — a bald, sweaty Dutchman sitting behind two keyboards who grunted and hissed into a microphone like he was smoking asbestos-flavoured cigarettes at the same time as singing. It was instantly offensive and made so much worse by the arrival of a dancing Englishman, north of 75, who had apparently been living in the town for 17 years but had not bothered to learn the language, gets wrecked at home so he does not have to buy any booze then staggers up the hill to start thrusting his hips in seated patron’s faces. I escaped but got lost and ended up accidentally walking into Germany. The radioactive Dutch singing would not leave me: "Note to Chief of SANDF Gen Solly Shoke SBS MMS" I typed into my reminders, "please stop buggering around with that submarine that you keep crashing into the seabed in False ...
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