On the morning of the referendum result in June 2016, the image that came into my head was that amazing trick that some people can do of whipping a tablecloth away while leaving all of the dishes and cutlery in place. Except the trick was being tried by a drunk. The idea was that a whole layer of politics that had been there for 45 years – the EU – could be whipped away and yet all the others – government, parliament, the law, the union itself – would not be upset. It was never going to happen. The trick, if it could be done at all, required a level of dexterity and coordination far beyond the capacities of the cack-handed and cock-eyed Brexiters. Instead of gasps of amazement, there was always going to be the cacophonous din of tumbling tableware.
Mooie metafoor, in een heel aardig stuk over de Brexit.