The Last of England

So at last it came: Brexit Day! Some celebrated and some commiserated but the overall feeling as far as I could tell – and this seemed to be confirmed by the tone of that 'official slogan' about 'getting Brexit done' – was of something unpleasant and possibly embarrassing that had to be got out of the way, like cleaning up after an explosive shit.

On the other hand the Daily Mail was offering its readers a commemorative tea towel, depicting some white cliffs. If it doesn't work out like you hoped, you can throw yourself off them.

Up until this point Brexit has been a maggot writhing around in its supporters' insides, inflaming their imaginations – now that it has been spewed out into reality and lies there on the sidewalk in glistening lumps it may not look so appetizing. But we'll all have to lick it up anyway.

Our latest PM (essentially, Mr. Blobby pretending to be Winston Churchill) doesn't exactly look like he's going to be much help. His 'landslide' victory was like the Trump story repeating itself as farce. And it already was farce.

Politicians should be grey and boring if you ask me – they are, after all, just civil servants. These celebrity politicians aren't really cut out for public service. It's all about me is their first principle, shortly followed by: It's not my fault.

It's a stance that has a certain logic to it. Because if you vote for people whose self-serving nature, incompetence and lies are all apparent from the start, you can hardly claim you weren't warned. Thus their consciences are clear - or would be if they had them.

It has at least been amusing to see the Daily Mail's headline writers trying to make Boris sound more dynamic than he is. 'PM Jets In To Face Iran Crisis' – as if he was going to cycle back from the Caribbean - then, next day: 'PM Walks Tightrope Over Iran'.

The other week the Mail On Sunday, inaugurating a litter-picking campaign, pictured him next to a womble (Orinoco, I think) as if he might look credible in comparison – in fact, it was hard to tell them apart, let alone decide who would make the better statesman.

His election victory seems, to a large extent, to be a reaction to an opposition putting forward a more radical agenda than anyone had the stomach for. And I suppose it didn't help that Corbyn tripped the Anti-Semitism Alarm. Once this is set off, it is very hard to stop – indeed, any polite request to 'turn it down a bit' is automatically interpreted as further Anti-Semitism, causing it to be turned up a notch. In the end, you can't hear yourself think.

It's hard to tell but I suspect that Boris, however long he survives, will be at best the new Cameron (a dead donkey) and at worst the new Trump (a livid prick, spouting shit). He even has his own Steve (Hilton or Bannon, take your pick) in the form of Dominic Cummings, who has advertised for 'weirdoes' to help Boris govern. I've already applied, calling myself Bonkers McConkers and suggesting that the Queen be replaced with a pineapple and that terrorism should be ACTIVELY ENCOURAGED. I've heard nothing back and am beginning to wonder if Mr. Cummings had a more specific definition of 'weirdoes' than he made apparent.

Still, it's reassuring that we can leave Europe and still be in Europe geographically. It means I can leave England myself now without the bother of actually going anywhere – and there really is nowhere to go anyway.

Not, of course, that I was ever really here in the first place.