Looks like I should have tuned in to the BBC on election night. Blood and Treasure writes:
And when writers, purblind or not, gather with worldly America, they take refreshment in large quantities. I saw Schama on the BBC around midnight on election night and he was absolutely rat arsed. Not just merry, but wall eyed, fuckwit blotto. His shirt was three buttons undone, his tie vanished, an absurd lecherous grin on his face as he yelled
“…it’s the Democrats. The Democrats. I know because my daughter was in new Hampshire today and they’re all lovely people up there and she was getting out the vote and there were people hugging and voting and she cried and the Democrats are going to win!”
Then he turned to fellow panelist David Frum and shouted: “are you looking at me, you self-hating Canadian bastard or are yer chewin’ a brick, ‘cos either way you’re going to hospital.”
Well no he didn’t. Not the last bit, anyway. He was cut off too soon for that. But I do detect a certain crapulous tone to the Guardian piece.
Here in the Netherlands, we had the great, if somewhat smelly, Maarten van Rossem, but I went to bed at quarter to three AM when it was clear to me which way things were going. By that time, van Rossum had knocked back three or four stiff ones, so he was only at his baseline.