English gastronomic cretinism

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Cuisine britannique: le chip butty

I beseech you in the bowels of Christ, must you eat that muck?

An important feature of the profoundly unappealing modern British, writes Dalrymple,

is their lack of self-control. They scream their obscenities in the street, eat everywhere they go, and leave litter behind them. They are opposed to self-control on grounds of health and safety. They see self-control as psychologically harmful or impossible: self-control is the enemy of self-expression, without which their existences would be poisoned as if by an unopened abscess.

The idea that sugar is addictive is

music to their ears. Not only is self-control bad for you, it has been proved (by science) to be impossible. Further good news is that fatness is genetic. Never has Man’s eternal urge to excuse himself received so much authoritative support.

The debased British

are among the fattest people on earth. Much of the economy is the Soviet Union with takeaway pizza.

Meals are

nasty, solitary, British, short, and frequent. The elementary social discipline of eating with others is lost. The Englishman’s street is his dining room. Streets are littered with the detritus of junk food. Were it not for smoking, the British would be even fatter.

Many billions of pounds of public expenditure

have made the dream of the political class come true: people have become the product of their environment, all needful of official assistance.

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