Tuesday evening offered the entertainment of seeing a well watered (but not, I insist, inebriated) think tank wonk dancing in the street  shouting "Eureka!", "Eppur si muove", "it works!" and similar. The reason for this display of entirely unedifying proof that white middle aged men indeed cannot dance was that there was a window cleaner cleaining the windows of the pub.

Yes, yes, I know, Worstall's finally lost his rocker and fallen off the plot. But note the most important word above: evening.