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Had I not entered journalism in the before the Internet took off, the snide and toothless sarcasm of my weekly columns would ultimately descend into a mediocre Medium blog by an aristocrat, but here we are.
Who am I?
Who am I?
I look like Peter Kay with a hangover, grovel for online attention and fantasise about Tony Blair being Nick Fury from the Avengers, I also get mad at being called a Tory, despite being in a Tory think-tank.
Who am I?
Who am I?
I augur intricacies of politics from fatuous details of aristocratic fashion and posh consumer goods. I hate trans people and make japes about donating money to women of colour.
Who am I?
Who am I?
I look like a haunted mirror and I believe anyone not supporting illegal wars to be worse than a literal fascist.
Who am I?
Who am I?
I am nose-diving into a senility steeped in blatant racism as a shining beacon of nominative determinism.
Who am I?
Who am I?
Don& #39;t let my exotic continental name fool you, cher lecteur, because no matter the question, centrism is always the answer.
Who am I?
Who am I?
