I used to love this country. I loved it’s green fields and winding lanes; its culture, music and comedy; its quirky little pubs. I loved its quaint towns and mighty capital, which I once thought the greatest city on earth. But how can I love it now? Now its people have turned their back on the world, in an act of mindless stupidity. I cannot. The fields as I pass them now seem tainted; its people, once so aimiable, now seem suspect. Who could love a literature written in the toungue of liars and con men? I once loved this land, but no more!