Sometimes I just want to run and plant a big, fat kiss on your boyish little brow, James Delingpole. Or pat your head in a more appropriately respectful, yet somehow patronising fashion.
For time and time again you prove to me that you do not know what you are talking about, squashing your own arguments flat as a pancake.
Here you prove that you (a) do not know how to do investigative journalism and are (b) quite prepared to repeat verbatim, gaffe by gaffe, what other people write :-
If you were only to skim and skate the Internet for a few minutes more, you could find out that there is an perfectly reasonable explanation for the “Kiwi Korrections” :-
Of course, since you have not been trained as a scientist, you will probably find yourself unable to fully appreciate how perfectly ridiculous you could appear in some eyes.
But not mine. All of a sudden I just love and adore you, for you have presented me with a golden gift with which I could dismiss your rantings as frustrated twaddle, egged on by a wunch of cynics.
Except I wouldn’t. I’m way too nice.