He recalls the days when there was an actual difference between the parties back in England:
You had something to get your teeth into there. Either you wanted to stand atop the ruins of Buckingham Palace waving the red flag, or else you were of the same kidney as Tory poet Philip Larkin, who sketched out his political program thusly in a letter to fellow curmudgeon Kingsley Amis:
Prison for strikers,
Bring back the cat,
Kick out the niggers,
How about that?
Nowadays, after the brief Thatcherite interlude (sigh), Labourites and Tories are indistinguishable: sleek young metrosexuals in thousand-dollar suits whose thoughts stray not one millimeter from the dogmas of the New Universal Faith—globalism, feminism, multiculturalism, gay rights, “human rights,” and all the rest of the snot, dandruff, and earwax we have to pretend to believe if we want to avoid the attentions of the Thought Police.
Indeed, Canada’s “conservatives” don’t sound much different, except they don’t wear thousand dollar suits, alas. That would be a saving grace of sorts.