Where are you in the five stages of Brexit grief ?
May has been flogging her deal from the back of a van like a dodgy market trader
Sorry to intrude on personal grief, but now we’ve all dutifully trudged off to exercise our suffrage in the European elections – life-affirming as root canal work in a power cut – I feel I ought to reach out.
How are you, in yourself? Or, more accurately, where are you? You might not be at the same point as I am on the Kübler-ross spectrum, but I reckon the five stages of denial, anger, bargaining, depression and resignation just about cover the entire country’s emotional response to Mrs May.
Denial
Can anyone in their right mind believe what’s happening in Westminster? Not only is Theresa May running out of ministers, Andrea Leadsom being the latest to jump ship, journalists report such a calamitous national shortage of hyperbolic, siege-related synonyms that there are rumours we might have to borrow compound words from the Germans under a confidence and supply agreement nobody will vote for.
It’s hard to discern who is in a deeper state of denial, us or her. The Prime Minister reassures us that she will go. Her cabinet wants her to go. The nation wants her to go. But she’s still here. Why? Rumours are gaining traction that Mrs May is actually Nanny Mcphee: “When you need me but do not want me, then I must stay. When you want me but no longer need me, then I have to go.” Makes more sense than anything else that’s going on.
Anger
The nation is seething but interestingly, the anger isn’t directed so much at the PM but at absolutely everyone else. This is strange, given the extent of her failure to deliver Brexit, but a reflection perhaps of just how irrelevant she seems to voters who just want rid.
Meanwhile, there’s a salted caramel shakedown happening against Brexiteers who dare to walk the streets wearing rosettes, but also among Brexiteers as some are branded not Brexity enough and others too Brexity for their own good. Brexit at Tiffany’s would be nice – but Macron will probably throw an export ban on croissants. However, Remainers are in disarray as well – but their infighting lacks a certain Jacobean bloodlust. The Tories’ theatrical acts of vengeance, internecine warfare and dead-eyed realpolitiking is far more gripping. Throw pinstriped populist Nigel Farage into the mix and it’s Titus Andronicus meets Toad of Toad Hall.
Bargaining
Will Mrs May ever stop? She’s been flogging her deal, the Chequers deal, the only deal and now the new deal from the back of a van like a dodgy market trader for so long that a generation of children think her Brexit Bill is a children’s book character.
I’m thinking Mr Benn, but increasingly tattered and unloved as the months go by. Instead of jauntily striding through a shop doorway and reappearing primed for adventure, deeply unpopular Brexit Bill spends his days anxiously huddled on the sofa pushed against the door of Number 10.
Recently, Mrs May has been throwing in all sorts of sweeteners to tempt members of any party who can be swayed over workers’ rights, vague promises about the backstop and one of those vegetable peelers that can spiralize courgettes. I believe whips are hanging out for a mini pretzel-maker for every constituency.
Depression
Technically known as Strexit, a study by King’s College London has revealed there was a 13.4 per cent increase in antidepressant prescription in the month following the 2016 referendum, compared to the previous year. If that doesn’t convince you, take a gander at Mumsnet, where Testytesting writes: “I am genuinely not one for melodrama, but I am devastated, angry, terrified, depressed and I feel so utterly helpless.” She forgot “Brexhausted”. God only knows how she reacted to the Game of
Thrones finale.
As parliamentarians squabble about a second referendum and half of the party lines up for a leadership battle, the country is mired in a trough of despond. British Steel has gone belly up, our justice system is on its knees, and knife crime has claimed its 100th victim this year – but our politicians appear more interested in careerist back-stabbing. Can’t think why we’re not more chipper.
Acceptance
“Resignation” is a better word, even if the PM has banned it within earshot. The country is divided. And subdivided again. Even with a change of leader, it’s hard to summon the spirit of optimism. Does anyone genuinely believe Mrs May’s successor will be able to sort out this disgraceful mess?
Maybe a little more charisma and a lot less Maybot would have charmed the EU into giving us everything on our Brexit wishlist, and a case of Alsace wine for the journey, but I doubt it.
Britain’s endless wrangling among ourselves has made us a laughing stock on the international stage, who see our stiff upper lips trembling with petulance and self-pity.
We’ve lost face abroad and faith at home. And we haven’t achieved a damn thing: not hard Brexit, not soft Brexit, not even scrambled Brexit. But as sure as eggs is eggs, we the electorate will make our offending politicians come to grief at the ballot box.