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My latest piece to be posted on Off-Guardian.
The slightest glimpse of Jonathan Freedland’s photo gets me smirking these days. It all started when he didn’t make the shortlist in the Guardian ballot for new editor earlier this year. It must be his nerdish glasses. Call me superficial, but nobody gets elected for anything important looking like he does. He doesn’t even dress like a proper editor.
Schadenfreude is a very nasty characteristic best savoured hidden from public scrutiny. But I can’t help myself. Where did he get that shirt? And how old is he, anyway?
For all his haughty pretentions, Freedland has become little more than an establishment rag’s hitman. His eagerness to line up the crosshairs undimmed by the sort of abject failure that has real hitmen fitted for concrete overcoats, he took another pop at Jeremy Corbyn last Friday. But it was the mean-spirited shot of a loser with a misplaced sense of entitlement. To continue reading this article at Off-Guardian click here.
Une fois. Encore.
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