As English breakfast became dinner – Spam anyone? – some were already in dreamland
Poor David Cameron. As he arrived for day two of the EU summit – a mere three hours after day one had ended – his eyes were bulging with exhaustion. While he gabbled a brief statement for TV, they seemed to swell and goggle, as if about to pop clean out of their sockets. He looked like a delirious snail. “I was here till five o’clock this morning working through this,” he gibbered, trying not to sound as if he were at an advanced stage of psychological collapse. No, he conceded, a deal hadn’t yet been reached on his proposed reforms, but he was going to “get back in there” and “do everything I can”.
He swung round and staggered off, more or less in the right direction.
Watching him go, you had to wonder: why do the most important summits so often last through the night? Why can’t they break off at a sociable hour, and come back in the morning? It’s unlikely that judgment is sharpened by fatigue. In the words of Bill Clinton: “Most of the mistakes I made in my career, I made when I was too tired. You make better decisions when you’re not too tired.” I bet we find the final deal is full of typos. “Teh Untied Kongdum wil! b£ aloud not%to PAYE enny !Benafits !to^ flithy FORR1N3RS.” Mr Cameron had hoped the deal would be finalised in the morning, allowing him to announce his triumph in the afternoon, and then zip home for a Cabinet meeting. But that wasn’t how it worked out.
On stretched the talks. On, and on, and on. The day was meant to start with one-on-one meetings, then all the leaders would thrash it out over “an English breakfast”. But the meetings overran, meaning the “English breakfast” was reannounced as “an English lunch”. After further delays it became “an English meal”, before it finally became “an English dinner”.
“There are still some compromises on the table,” reported Sky’s Faisal Islam. Precious little food, though.
Forget the EU leaders – it was the chef I felt sorry for. Just think of all that spoilt food. First he orders in three dozen plates’ worth of sausages, eggs, beans, the works.
Then he has to chuck that in the bin and rush out to buy the ingredients for an “English lunch” – presumably a ploughman’s. Then he has to chuck all
that in the bin and buy the ingredients for an “English dinner”. And how easy it is to source Spam in central Brussels, I couldn’t say.
Poor man. By the evening he must have been looking almost as knackered as David Cameron.
Other EU leaders and officials were not impressed. Some vented their frustration on Twitter. “I am more and more perplexed by the British approach of non-negotiation,” wrote Tomas Prouza, a Czech minister. “Quite unorthodox, to say the least.”
Xavier Bettel, prime minister of Luxembourg, suggested there might be a text “at the end of the afternoon”. Some hope. “Since last night, there are proposals that have been changed, notably on what concerns France,” growled François Hollande, the French president. “A lot still remains to be done,” confessed Donald Tusk, president of the European Council.
“We’re happy to stay till Sunday!” burbled David Cameron manically.
Then it turned out the Greeks were threatening to veto the entire deal if they didn’t receive more help with the migrant crisis. Oh dear. No, hang on – suddenly the Poles were saying a deal was “close”! Hooray! Sorry, forget I spoke – a spokesman for Mr Tusk was announcing that the “English dinner” had been put back till 8pm. Mr Cameron confirmed that there would definitely be no Cabinet meeting now.
The leaders trudged back to their hotels to “freshen up”. A shower, perhaps, or a dip in a vat of coffee.
The tension was becoming difficult to bear, and not just in Brussels. In Britain, the Conservatives for Reform in Europe, a pro-EU group, sent out a letter congratulating Mr Cameron on “the deal he has negotiated”.
The only trouble was: he hadn’t yet negotiated one. Well, you couldn’t blame them for dreaming.