Home to Old Blighty

We arrived safely in England last night - to the land that brought you the best sports, real humour, proper manners, personal hygiene, the stiff upper lip, unparalleled learning and literature, to the land that brought you tea (shut up, Indians), glorious food (shut up everyone else in the world), the Opium wars, Margaret Thatcher, and everything else worth anything at all. It’s nice to come home.

On the plane, we were stuck behind two libidonically energised young people who couldn’t stop talking. Loudly. And boy did they have opinions … on everything. Being unfortunately forced to listen to their non-stop opinionating, I couldn’t help note the odd logical non sequiturs, use of the old post hoc, ergo propter hoc fallacy, question begging, not to mention the use anecdotal evidence to prove a point etc.

Of course, my teeth were grinding like two bunnies in a sleeping bag, but there was more. One of them continued falling into numerous horrendous (circumstantial) Ad Hominem arguments, not to mention the old Ad Hominem Tu Quoque fallacy. If this was not enough, the person in question also saw fit to employ the erroneous rhetorically “misleading vividness”, guilt by association and hasty generalisation tactics.

By this point I was getting ready to use the edge of my Church of England prayer book as a lethal weapon, and forever finish their argumentation methods. I wanted, oh so wanted to see how far I could shove my travel ESV bible down their throats.

But I didn’t. I just sat there angrily wearing down the enamel of my teeth, totally under control.

Behold my Christmas spirit.