Boris Brexit drops a clanger
Madame Brexit was delighted with her sheer cleverness in landing three of the foremost leaver loons with the mind-bending complexities of managing Brexit. The people had spoken. Brexit meant Brexit, but what was it? Nobody had a clue, least of all the Brexiteers. It was best to play along with the nutters who promoted the daft idea. Let them take responsibility for it and, if it failed (more than likely), on their heads be it. Boris Brexit settled himself at his Louis quattorze desk at the Foreign Office, a grand Palladian structure dripping with hidden signs of European influence. A crowd of shifty-eyed Herberts crept around the place, kissing bottoms and crafting policies of mass delusion. Liam Brexit had been making a nuisance of himself, laying claim to large parts of the Foreign Office on behalf of the new free trade Kingdom of Brexitannia. Boris repelled these attacks, but at some cost. Madame Brexit agreed to slap the upstart Liam down but she insisted that Boris should mak