There's this Guardian columnist who occasionally pops up in my timeline named Adrian Chiles. I do not know much about him, other than that he used to work at the BBC and possesses the archetypical author's photo of a wealthy, senescent Londoner. (My dad is English, I know the type well.) But unlike his sour contemporaries — Piers Morgan, Richard Littlejohn, take your pick — Chiles doesn't go viral for spouting the usual aggrieved, gutless takes about political correctness or Cardi B music videos. No, instead whenever I see Chiles' byline, he's writing 350 words about a clumsy attempt to offer a
Twilight of the Good, Bad Columnists
There's this Guardian columnist who occasionally pops up in my timeline named Adrian Chiles. I do not know much about him, other than that he used to work at the BBC and possesses the archetypical author's photo of a wealthy, senescent Londoner. (My dad is English, I know the type well.) But unlike his sour contemporaries — Piers Morgan, Richard Littlejohn, take your pick — Chiles doesn't go viral for spouting the usual aggrieved, gutless takes about political correctness or Cardi B music videos. No, instead whenever I see Chiles' byline, he's writing 350 words about a clumsy attempt to offer a
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