Wave your Got Brexit Done tea towel and try hard to cheer up
I DON’T know about you but the last thing I’m feeling this morning is hungover.
I decided against getting smashed in front of the TV watching Johnson’s Churchillian B-Day speech, although I stuck a tenner on him saying “we’ll kick them off the beaches”.
I didn’t get down to the Parliament Square gloat-fest to hear everyone do a Vera Lynn as it looked a bit Eartha Kitt. And I wasn’t invited to the antielitist Vote Leave celebration in venture capitalist Jon Moynihan’s £20million Chelsea mansion, so I missed Jacob Rees-Mogg dressed as Prince singing “tonight one’s going to party like it’s 1899”.
I just sat at home, making bonging noises with the cat’s litter tray at 11pm, thinking of the future. And I decided to embrace it. That’s right. No more Brexit angst from me. No more remoaning. It’s time to move on.
So as I wrap myself in my Got Brexit Done tea towel, let me raise a glass of Wetherspoon’s Sparkling White Cliffs of Dover wine, and point out all the reasons we have to be cheerful now we’ve left the EU.
Homeless beggars will get a boost as half the country refuses to have the new Brexit coin in their pocket and tosses it to them. The epidemic of coffee-fuelled halitosis in workplaces will be wiped out as Eastern European baristas go home and the obesity crisis will be addressed as people refuse to feed their kids President Slander’s Chlorinated Fried Chicken.
We can move on to another issue that splits the Tories, like HS2, as southern backbenchers demand Johnson reneges on the £100billion rail offer to placate the North and instead gives them subsidised ferret-neutering and free clogs.
Nigel Farage will become an increasingly clownish figure on the political fringes, inventing new foreign enemies who threaten Britain’s sovereignty, like the Chinese. And form The Chexit Party.
TV news bulletins will stop sending reporters to town centres in the Midlands and North East, blocking bemused shoppers from going into Greggs to ask if they feel betrayed.
Those Brexit MEPs won’t be able to act like football hooligans by metaphorically showing their hairy backsides to the European Parliament in our name.
The next General Election won’t be a toxic issue for Labour, who last time took all the flak for what was a Tory Civil War. Because this is Johnson’s baby now. He can’t blame anyone else for what comes next. It’s all on the liar’s watch.
And if a compromise trade deal is struck, Mark Francois will turn into Mr Creosote, exploding with rage as he perceives that, unlike his father on D-Day, we’ve surrendered to the Germans.
Chances are we will end up with a deal that makes most younger Britons poorer for a generation but keeps a large chunk of older people happy by returning their blue passports.
Talking of passports, because my mum’s mum was born in Co Kildare I have the option, if I choose to use it, of avoiding the massive queues at Spanish airports and walking through the EU citizens’ channel, then heading to a cafe for San Miguel and tapas while I wait for the rest of my fuming family to emerge hours later.
Cheers. Salud. Sláinte.
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It’s Johnson’s baby now – he can’t blame anyone for what’s next...