If I’m buying potatoes here in rural Ireland, I get to choose not just variety, but also who grew them - the local farm or the family business my friend married into from about 10 miles away. (Usually I choose Ivanoff’s Maris Pipers, but Kennedys also have a fine range).

This is the thing: in a climate-catastrophic world, nowhere will be permanently safe. Nowhere. We will have to move and move and move. So all of the posturing of various nations about keeping immigrants out is just rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic.

Also: good, and fuck them.

on.ft.com/4a0JDOz

And anyone who has watched magistrates nod-along with prosecution evidence in the mags courts will know exactly what I mean.