In the pages of the Financial Times, writes Dalrymple,
one seeks in vain an item of interest, let alone of illumination.
Dalrymple sometimes attempts to read the FT
to help me get to sleep when it is handed out free on planes.
He very occasionally buys it and walks through
my small town in England with it under my arm in order to give the appearance to my fellow townsmen of material substance.
The FT
is earnest rather than serious. The only frivolity it permits itself is its glossy supplement, How to Spend It (a title of outstanding vulgarity), which consists mainly of advising financiers on how to dispose of their surplus millions—that is to say their misappropriations of shareholders’ funds—on expensive trifles.
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