Nigel Farage's worst week ever.
It all began so well. The Europeans were threatening to slam the door against Madame Mayhem and her tribe of warring Brextremists. There would be no deal. It was just what Nigel wanted. Britain, freed of European domination, would strike out into the wider world, except the bits full of Indians, Africans, Hispanics, Arabs and Chinese, of course. Britain would scoop up vast amounts of loot from grateful natives in exchange for whatever trinkets she chose to bestow on them. Britannia would rule the waves again and the Europeans could bugger off. Meanwhile, Barnier and Junker were playing their usual game, demanding a vast amount of cash in exchange for agreeing to look the other way while the Brits escaped through a hole in the fence around fortress Brussels. There was no way the plucky Brits could submit to such extortion. Better still, Liam Brexit, dimmest of the three Brexiteers, was said to be confident of negotiating an innovative, high-speed trade deal with Burkina Faso. The fl