I live in the middle of a road, and on a morning, our father makes us lick the road clean with our tongues. Then when we get home, he slices us in
two with a bread knife.
I tell you something, if it's not one thing, it's another with this country. Having said that, I can imagine the situation being similar in every country. At least with the airports shut, those bloody labour MPs can't go and bunk off up in the blue ridge mountains in their bleeding holiday homes.