My parents were Anglophiles. Therefore, I was an Anglophile, gobbling up Masterpiece Theater, majoring in British history at college, and spending an utterly delightful junior year abroad in England a long, long time ago. Of late, though, I’ve come to revisit my fondness for England. That’s because England doesn’t really seem to exist anymore. Instead, it’s an increasingly Third World country, complete with blasphemy laws, and a likely collapse of its power grid.
The trigger for this, my latest in a series of essays I think of as illustrating that “there won’t always be an England,” is a article in the Daily Mail that looks at the city of Leicester.
