Today, even as I type this, a group of toffs are holed up at Chequers trying to decide which of the latest combination of fudged trade and customs plan they would like the EU to reject. Some might suggest that Theresa May’s Brexit plans are beginning to look like the Rocky saga – implausible, badly scripted, going on far too long. Others might suggest it’s more of a Rocky Horror Picture Show – fantasy from the 1970s. I’m hoping today might yet turn out to be more Agatha Christie. You just can’t have that many aristocrats in a country house at one time without someone being murdered. It’s just a matter of who will take the knife in the back. Ooooh, so many good candidates to choose from…
We’re told if any of them resign, they’ll lose their ministerial cars and be forced to walk a mile up the driveway to hail a taxi. Surely an opportunity for a Remain oriented group to gather a collection of battered old cabs at the top of the road, with the drivers holding name cards? If only I’d brough back one of Mexico City’s little green bugs with me.
On a serious note: we are getting to a certain critical point where I would not be entirely surprised if a lead Brexiter breaks ranks and calls for the whole thing to be abandoned. Or something similar, such as staying in the EEA and customs union. It’s clear to everyone bar the most dull minded that there is no good deal to be had, only differing degrees of bad deal. Still on a serious note: you know the UK will almost certainly rejoin the EU later, right? Demographically, even if no one changed their minds from 2016, Remain would be a clear victor by 2021. So why are we doing this again?
The London protests are good to go next Friday to greet Trump. And I have the day off. So, yay. I shall pop along. Not that Trump has the balls to stay in London. He’s going to skip town straight away, the old orange snowflake that he is. Should I take a banner? I’ve given it some thought. In lieu of originality, perhaps something Pythonesque would befit the occasion? “I fart in your general direction”. Meh. I’m too lazy. I’ll take my camera and see if I can snap anything witty than others have come up with.
I’m going to call it now, the Oxford Dictionary’s Word of 2018: Novichok.