When we were young we lived in fear: the Russians — no, the USSR -- were coming for us. We held our breath and cowered under our desks waiting for the end of the world. Then the enemy collapsed which every house of cards must do. In its place rose another illusion a succession of threats and poses poses and threats from a man who would be king. This new enemy is smaller with a small man’s bluster, a pufferfish with warheads to poison the world. Today we sit and sip our wine or fancy bespoke cocktails and talk about the end. We did this yesterday and the day before. No fear this time, just resignation. Because everything has changed and everything is the same. This much we can say: It never ends well for the Tsar.