The British, or rather English, mistrust of what lies beyond the Channel has always been fathomless. W.H. Auden, observing a “cult of salads,” jested that “before very long” the south of England would resemble “the Continong.” There across the sea, on a suspect Continent, lay lands of constitutions, Napoleonic legal codes, defeated armies, imperfect freedom, rabies, wife-swapping and garlic.
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