Looming over the back of all the sound and fury of our day to day politics is the inexorable approach of Brexit day. The 29th of March 2019 will be the day when something happens, maybe. We will start an orderly transition to somewhere, or an abrupt and disorderly crunch into somewhere else. There will be some kind of Brexit that might happen, whether it’s hard or soft (my personal bet is on squidgy). Unless we get an extension, which we won’t, probably. We might keep going with a Mexican stand-off on a falling nuclear bomb waving cowboy hats as we go, MAD all the way down.
There are a wonderful range of countdown options to choose from, traditionalists can see we’re now under 250 days to go, while the Brexit Countdown twitter account offers hourly updates showing us approaching 5800 hours until something might will have possibly happened.
Perhaps we can dig out the Olympic clock and set it up in Parliament Square like a particularly ominous version of Countdown.
We should have the 30th as a national holiday, out of consideration for a great national hangover and for a chance to adjust to the new state of affairs, whatever it will be. Leavers can get the celebratory rounds of strictly British booze (splitting the bill in very creative ways) meanwhile in the next room Remainers drown their sorrows and mournfully hum Ode to Joy.
Nigel Farage will be back in his familiar pint-handed pose, Arron Banks is facing questions about how he paid for the party (but the roof is missing some lead). Theresa May is still in charge of organising the Conservative’s drinks order, which to has led them all to a team-building retreat with padded rooms and all sharp objects confiscated. A few members sneaked off to call Steve Bannon and Jeremy Corbyn keeps slipping back and forth between the two rooms disappearing as soon as he’s trapped into committing to saying hello and dreaming nostalgically of the days when it was only Brexit questions he had to avoid.
(The Lib Dems unfortunately had a prior engagement elsewhere and were just as inconspicuous in their absence as in person).
Maybe it’ll all feel like a dream, or at least the gap-filled memory haze of a heavy night before. Maybe the last two years will make more sense that way. The future is certain, give us time to work it out.