Mr V. came bouncing into the room wearing a pair of bright red trousers. Ah, I say. I see your wearing your Brexit pants. I was joking. I didn’t know he was Brexit. Apparently, he is. You never can tell. You suddenly turn round and the person beside you whom you thought you knew casts no reflection in the mirror. The country is split. It’s the War of the Roses and the strata of allegiance are complex. Hard left and hard right are Brexit? Soft left and soft right are Remainsters? Idealists can be either. Pure sovereignty fetishists are Brexit; pure love they euro-neighbour fetisists Remainsters. David Cameron and Jeremy Corbyn are Remainsters though we suspect they are secretly Brexits. You can be a secret Brexit who won’t associate with Jonson and Gove. Or a closet Remainster who likes to grandstand Brexit. I felt a bit Brexit when I lived in France where there were politicians who constantly spouted stuff about closer European integration being a historical inevitability, as if we all led our lives on Hegelian principles. In the YouKay I go the other way in reaction against Ian Botham who thinks we should do all we can to remain an island, as though aspiring to hold a tea party in a war zone like Syd James and Charles Hawtry in Carry on Up the Khyber. It’s all very complicated. And meanwhile at home at Number 10, in the secret enclosure of the Prime Ministerial bedroom, Sam Cam asks DC for a bit of kinky role play. Oh please put your red Brexit trousers on for me tonight DC. Let’s pretend your Michael Gove. If it gets out of hand, same safeword  as last Tuesday: Common Agricultural Policy.

peoplarerubbish.com