Tonight I witnessed two versions of Britain: one exemplified by the phenomenonal Sarathy Korwar, whose exuberant, politically-charged melting pot of jazz, spoken word, noise and bhangra brought together a diverse audience with the sheer joy of music; the other by a corpulent jizz-sodden haystack seeping corruption, dog-whistle racism and corrosive privilege from every pore, stumbling through life (and wives, some of whom he personally married) under the severe misapprehension that a passable knowledge of Ancient Greek is an adequate substitute for basic human decency. I know which I prefer.
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