In case you hadn’t noticed, Brexit’s a drag isn’t it?
It’s been in our faces for the last five years like a horrendous pub bore, harrumphing, braying, and barking, and showing scant regard for our personal space, covid or no covid.
Frankly it’s been hard to concentrate on anything else.
We try and knuckle down to a budget agreement, and Brexit pipes up loudly next to our earholes, telling us how it is, and is ever going to be, with fish quotas.
We start an earnest discussion about managing the challenges of the digital economy, and Brexit bangs down its drained glass, burps gratuitously, and somehow makes the conversation about him and his plans to walk out of the pub without paying (‘him’, because, in case there was any doubt in this personificatory analogy, Brexit is most certainly a man rather than a woman, and likely thinks all other gender identities are just woke nonsense propagated by a liberal media intent on a culture war against the decent majority. And probably imposed by Brussels).
Every time we try and occupy ourselves with anything else, anything involving the EU’s own internal issues, from across the table there’s some theatrical throat clearing followed an extensive incoherent trail of bombastic blurting to drown all else out.
And if I might clear my throat, reassure you all it’s just a tickle, and make this about me
for a moment, how am I meant to prick the EU’s pomposities and mock it’s absurdities, if the most pompous and absurd thing in it – consistently, repeatedly, and over a long period of time – is the arse who’s leaving it?
For a brief moment there was a scandal involving a politician *gasp* doing the wrong thing. The short-lived nature of the story wasn’t helped by said politician then *gasp* doing the right thing. (And hats duly tipped for that).
But also, how can I justify any concerted satirical focus on hashtag golfgate when hashtag BrexitManbaby is throwing his toys out of the pram and threatening to jettison the pram because he never wanted a pram in the first place and in any case who needs a pram he’ll be fine without a pram?
Similarly, EUHQ self-backslapping over closing the stabledoor on the long-bolted car-emissions-fraud horse could have drawn more barbs.
And France’s bizarre hissy fit over the decision not to cram thousands of people into metal boxes to transport them over many hours to spend a week in close quarters in a glass bowl in Strasbourg at a time of coronavirus should also have attracted some vilificacious column inches.
But no. Not while Brexit is loudly and proudly filling his nappy, and, by the look in his eye and on recent form, is now likely to consider making hand paintings with the contents.
And do bear in mind, again, for your mental-imaging purposes, in this scenario Brexit is a grown-up human man. Not a baby. Lest I sit accused of mixing my metaphors and trying to have my rhetorical cake and pick the cherries to go atop it.
(You’re welcome for the mental image by the way. Of the feculent Brexit guy. Not the cake.)
So,congratulations, Brexit, you have yet again drawn the attention.
And we are yet again, reluctantly, laughing at you.