It’s the weekend after Britain’s general election, and I head out in glorious sunshine for a gathering at the Transition Town allotment. I’m watering away with the communal hose at the frost-withered sprouts of my tomatoes, when a vision hits me.
Is this, laid out before my eyes, the political model of the future? Was the collective June verdict of the great British public very simple: that we don’t really want anyone to tell us what to do? Not the EU, not Central Government, not – much as we love them – any single one of the parties in Westminster? What if what we really ...
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