ON the day on which the plot to blow up ten airliners between Britain and America was revealed to the public, I took a long taxi ride in a British city in which a good proportion of the taxi drivers are Muslim. My driver was Muslim, and I had more than enough time to talk to him.
We lamented the state of the world in general, and in particular the uncontrolled and vile public drunkenness of British youth that makes the life of taxi drivers a hazardous misery once the sun goes down. (It so happens I was on my way to a prison to prepare an entirely pointless medical report on a young man who, while drunk, had attacked a taxi driver.)
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