The Rest Home For Men Who Wear Cravats

It's already started. The literati who think The Man Booker has been sullied by books that don't, in their opinion, reach the literary standards of the past, are moaning. In 'their' opinion it is all down hill from here and literature these days is nothing more than commercial pap. These are the people who only read the great works in their original language and if you haven't got a double first in Classics your existence is worthless. They career round this green and pleasant land on Penny Farthings, doff boaters to corseted women and spend their afternoons reading Proust whilst spearing small men 'who do' with hot crumpet forks. It is they who should be removed, quietly to The Rest Home for Men Who Wear Cravats.