Musings From A Gondola, or I Still Can’t Quite Believe They Pay Me For This.

Several people pointed out this piece by Justin Webb about deducing the innermost soul of America from half a dozen guys you met in a ski-lift gondola*, too. It seems the same piece was spotted (in its first incarnation as a Radio Four broadcast) by Myrna Blyth of NRO. (Hat tip: Hazel Stein.)

Actually, I’ve got a soft spot for Justin Webb. No one who can write

Faced with another round of exquisite jellied meat products I heard a secret service agent expressing in pithy terms a desire for hamburgers. Very old white house.

can be all bad, although the subeditor who left out the initial capitals on “White House” deserves to be ejected into space or Manchester.

During the three days of his Tour Diary, Webb also praises President Bush’s jokes and carries a torch for Condi. Against that, I have to say that the line where he worries that the entire Muslim world can see cheerleaders on TV is tediously over-earnest in a very British way. What say you, comrades? Shall we spare him, come the glorious day?

*Talking of extrapolating the American psyche, I read the wonderful Lileks Olive Garden screed when it first came out. But all you get is this 404 page. New link, anyone?