There comes a time where the world needs a man.

A man who is able to, in the face of overwhelming circumstances, be the most reductive, infuriating, stupid contrarian.

And that man is Brendan O'Neill.

This week, the chattering classes of this once great nation have been a flurry and a flutter about those disrespecting their precious safe space, or as the guardian easters of the People's Republic of Islington are calling it, quarantine.

The hollabaloo began when a video emerged of proud British holiday makers trying to enjoy the last of their trip to Spain,

drinking beers in the street and comparing stomach tattoos in the time-on and fashion of Brits

abroad. The SJW Spanish Police, however, or Polizia, as they call it over in Juce,

Espania, were trying to impinge upon their rights by asking them politely to return to their

accommodation for their own safety and the safety of others.

The sandal sand and easters of Stoke Newington though took to Twitter, not to defend these pioneers,

these ambassadors of the stiff upper gut, but to admonish them, to say that they were irresponsible and embarrassing,

but how can this be? It is an Englishman's fundamental human rights since the dawn of time,

to drink 18 Stellars and sing DJ Otsey's 2000 hit Hey Baby at bewildered and weary Spaniards.

Can this right be curtailed just because of a global crisis?

Could these champagne polypureotypes even drink 18 Stellars in one sitting?

Their silence speaks volumes.

No.

This is an issue of freedom of speech, a fundamental clash between the right to say that you are

English and contract a virus, and the desire of the quinoir Khmer Rouge to make everyone stay

home and read marks.

We must take a stand. They say people should

work from home and we must close schools except for the children of key workers, but surely

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