There is a rather wonderful cheese shop in Guildford where I am quite the regular. They even began ageing their Morbier at my request.
So I walk into the shop on Satdee to find out that not only do they not have aged Morbier, they are beginning to struggle to maintain their stocks of French cheese generally. Apparently the Froggies have begun checking exports and this is slowing down delivery which compromises the quality of the cheese so the distributors in France (who are oversubscribed three times within the EU) figure there is no point sending it to the UK.
Now I understand Leave's point of view even if I disagree with some of it, but surely democratic principles, immigration concerns etc should not stand in the way of a chap having access to the best cheese possible? That's just not reasonable.
Basically, Leavers out!
"Plenty of strikers can score goals," he said, gesturing to the famous old stands casting shadows around us.
"But a lot have found it difficult wearing the number 9 shirt for The Arsenal."
Either that is a lie, or les Douaniers have taken it upon themselves to act illegally.
We are still members of the EU. There is no such thing as an 'export' within the EU.
The cheese is in free circulation within the EU - unless, of course, the cheese isn't French at all, but has been imported to France from outside the EU, in which case it will be subject to community transit procedures. The ICTS system is currently down, actually, byt HMRC have authorised the fallback procedure so the only possible reason for your cheese being delayed is that 1) it is Duabaiin cheese and 2) some daft French **** is unable to write out a C88.
Do points 1 and 2 carry a strong air of verisimilitude, would you say?
Not all of us get up in the morning and pull on some old sacking secured with string, h. We favour the carefully tailored suit; the trousering accentuating the gracefulness of the calf, the jacket cut to highlight the manly chest and shoulders. In a similar way, we use language to ornament our speech and add the essential elegance to our lives. You daft old ****.
The word is the very embodiment of pompous Victorian over-elaboration. Six syllables where one will do! Exactly the kind of thing George Orwell railed against correctly observing that powerful writing is characterised by forthrightness and simplicity.
I bet Monty, a published author no less, would agree with me.