Give David Cameron a rifle, a uniform, a helmet and a pair of boots, and which ever ways he sprints, the front line is in the opposite direction.
Cameron, Hague, Clegg, Hughes, Ashdown, Rifkind, the bloody lot 'em, prepared and desperate to fire inaccurate missiles from thousands of miles away and supporting cutthroat Jihadis as they slit the throats of Syrian children, while at the same time laying wreathes at The Cenotaph, pretending to know and understand and regret the consequences of war.
Shame!
Shame!
Shame!
Shame!
Shame!
Shame!
Shame!
Shame!
Shame!
Shame!
Shame!
That's what Big Ben will chime at 1100 tomorrow, and Monday, and the day after that, and the day after that,...
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