Now we have been over this ground before & rather than subject you my shortcomings as a proof reader, forgive me if I once more refer you to the following passage taken from Quartered Safe Out Here by the late George Macdonald Fraser

Still, the Britain they see in their old age is hardly 'the land fit for heroes' that they envisaged - if that land existed in their imaginations, it was probably a place where pre-war values co-existed with decent wages & housing. It was a reasonable, perfectly possible dream, & for a time existed, more or less. And then it changed, in the name of progress & improvement & enlightenment, which meant the destruction of much that they had fought for & held dear, & the betrayal of familiar things that they loved. Some of them, to superficial minds, will seem terribly trivial, even ludicrously so - things like county names, & shillings and pence, & the King James Version, & yards & feet & inches; yet they matter to a nation.

They did not fight for a Britain which would be dishonestly railroaded into Europe against the people's will; they did not fight for a Britain where successive governments, by their weakness & folly, would encourage crime & violence on an unprecedented scale; they did not fight for a Britain where thugs & psychopaths could murder & maim & torture & never have a finger laid upon them for it; they did not fight for a Britain whose leaders would be too cowardly to declare war on terrorism; they did not fight for a Britain whose Parliament would, time & time again, betray its trust by legislating against the wishes of the country; they did not fight for a Britain where children could be snatched from their homes & parents by night on nothing more than the good old Inquisition principle of secret information; they did not fight for a Britain whose Churches & schools would be undermined by fashionable reformers; they did not fight for a Britain where free choice could be anathematised as 'discrimination' ; they did not fight for a Britain where to hold truths & values which had been thought to be good & worthy for a thousand years would be to run the risk of being called 'fascist' - that, really, is the greatest & most pitiful irony of all.

Oh darkest of rages, I’m off to bed on that unhappy note. In the morning, I might well go & dig up the special boarder at the bottom of the garden in which no plants seem to grow, despite being regularly watered with oil