There are days when I can’t muster up the nous to do lengthy pieces, and today I’m plumb tuckered out. My post on Glenn Greenwald yesterday had to be rebuilt from scratch when, after a very long period of scribbling, the computer ate most of my first draft. I probably lost all the really good turns of phrase in my grimly typed, save-as-you-go second run at it. RIP.

So it’s kudos to others today. I suggest grabbing a coffee and heading over to Sir Francis’ place first of all. He’s back at last, sending clouds of mustard-gas oratory rolling towards all things Conservative—with a momentary, and delightful, divagation.

Sir F. would appreciate the timely reference to WWI, perhaps, but he’d disapprove strongly of its application here. He stands resolutely on the other side in such matters, a stout defender of the British monarchy and its concomitant standards, and a pacifist to boot. Frankly, though, with his targets happily running our country and our values into the ground, I myself feel like repealing the 1925 Geneva Protocol—metaphorically and rhetorically, of course.

In any case, he promises a whole series. I can’t wait.

Now head over to the Globe & Mail and read Elizabeth Renzetti. She wields a skewer—or, in the spirit of her column, perhaps I should say a stiletto—and pops stereotypes with aplomb. Why do all these silly caricatures come to the fore when ships founder? (I wish she’d found space to mention Coast Guard Captain Gregorio De Falco. “Vada a bordo, cazzo” has to be one of the more memorable one-liners in shipping history.)

Finally, and do finish your coffee first, we Canadians were fortunate enough to be able to fly our Prime Minister, Stephen I, to a ball game in the US. It cost us $45,000, but compared to Tony Clement’s misappropriation of $50 million, that’s a mere peanut.

In the entourage that we sent along, by the way, there were two persons named “Ms Guarsico.” Given the debate coming up shortly, perhaps Ms Guarsico was simply pregnant.

Have a good day. I plan to.