The other day I went to give evidence in a murder trial. As I waited to get on, as we in the expert-witness trade call being ushered into the witness box, I overheard an enormous tattooed Indian with three gold rings like knuckledusters on both hands shouting down his telephone ‘The other charges ain’t got dropped.’ Now that’s what I call assimilation. Mind you, it will probably turn out in the near future that his gold knuckledusters have been the best investment of his or anyone else’s life.

Read the rest at Salisbury Review