I AM SLEEPING EVEN MORE poorly than usual, and in those fitful hours between my second visit to the bathroom and the buzz of the alarm clock I am haunted by a recurring thought. What if I was wrong about Liz Truss?
Like everyone else, I winced at the blinky interviews and chuckled at the wilting lettuce. On reflection, perhaps we should have all shown her more respect when we had a chance.
The thing about prophets is that
