It starts this way,
The climate denialism beat is kind of depressing, by and large, but it has brought me one great joy: Lord Christopher Monckton. Though I suppose there's at least as much "evidence" for his birth as there is for President Obama's, I prefer to believe that he sprang full grown into this world, after escaping from the pages of some unpublished manuscript by Flann O'Brien.
As evil or (to be quite fair) stupid as he is, it's oddly comforting that such a creature stalks abroad in our drab age. In Edith Sitwell's English Eccentrics, a certain Colonel Thornton is annoyed by a friend's claim to have suffered a "broken head," and issues this rebuke:I am the only man in England, Sir, that ever had a broken head, to live after it. I was hunting near my place in Yorkshire, when my mare threw me, and I was pitched head foremost upon a scythe which had been left on the ground. When I was taken up, my head was literally found to be cut in two, and was spread over my shoulders like a pair of epaulettes -- that was a broken head if you please, Sir.Monckton is the nearest thing we have to Colonel Thornton, and I can't help but admire him for it.
via Bouphonia
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