Tunes of glory
NEVER HAD to have an opinion about the Falklands War because it was all over before I was ten months old, and however annoyingly precocious I was as a child, even I drew the line at articulating foreign policy in shrieks and burping. (Anyone tempted to jump in with, “Isn’t that just what you do now?” — have this one for free.) So my opinions about the conflict, for most of my life, have been a vague cloud comprising the words “sheep”, “rock”, “Belgrano” and “Maggie”.
