Julian Assange is one of my best enemies. For my part it was hatred at first sight. He was only slightly slower on the uptake. Our relationship was consummated last year when we debated in London, and he fluttered those strange dead eyes at me, and threatened to sue me, and then didn’t, and I wrote about it afterwards and revealed to the world (or Spectator diary readers at least) that his backstage chat is like aural rohypnol.
Anyhow – in recent months I have not had the time to keep...
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