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By Bagehot
IT BEING Friday, I hope readers will tolerate a snippet of breaking news from the streets of South Kensington, nerve centre of the French expatriate community in London. Bicycling down the Fulham Road a short while ago, Bagehot was passed by a gleaming Aston Martin, twin exhausts rumbling like a freight train, and French number plates (33 code, so from Bordeaux, at a guess). I was all ready to shout: „Bloody asylum seekers“ at the driver, but decided the gag might not work in translation.
