This cavalier disregard for the maxim about shitting on your own doorstep would surely be cheerily ongoing had Brussels not called a halt, an intervention that surely more than atones for any regulation on the shape of bananas. After bumping my car through an excitingly awful wasteland of burnt-out Transit vans and flytippings, I finally came upon the EU's creation. Up it rose across the once malaria-infested Plumstead Marshes, a curvaceous, crested wave of glass and anodised aluminium, a slice of Sydney Opera House: in Crossness did Eurocrats a stately poo-furnace decree.

— Do Not Pass Go by Tim Moore (Page 152)