In the wake of Booker on the destruction of Wales, Dellers is asking, where is the Prince of Wales when you really need him?
What efforts has this famed floral conversationist, this defender of old-school values, this ex-foxhunting, stalking-about-the-Highland-Glens-with-his-crooked-stick countryman made to prevent a 100 square mile stretch of Britain’s most glorious countryside being transformed into a sterile Golgotha of wind towers?
Zip. Nada. Nothing.
Or as they say in Welsh – and I must say the word does seem peculiarly apt where our future King is concerned: Dim.
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