Whatever you say, just don’t mention Brexit

BREXIT is like watching someone gouging their own brains out with a spoon, someone with an ‘I’ve-started-so-I’ll-finish’ attitude. Sorry.

But as much as it’s flooded the Irish news, imagine what it is like to be here in England, stuck in the thick of it. And I mean thick. Its political pushers thick as thieves, its deluded citizenry thicker than turkeys voting for Christmas.

When will it end? Won’t someone think of the children?

My children, with their potentially useless British passports, because I still can’t face the queue at the Irish passport office in London. Sorry kids. But maybe there is hope, now that the whole thing seems to be collapsing like a Jenga tower in a gale. Maybe it won’t happen. Maybe Brexit will be cancelled. Maybe the turkeys will get to vote again.

So what will happen if Brexit doesn’t happen? Will it be like season nine of Dallas, the one where Pammy dreamed the whole thing, and everyone went along with it? (Apologies to Millennials for this ancient Gen X reference; YouTube it). Or will it will be like — spoiler alert — A Star Is Born, when Bradley Cooper has that excruciating moment on stage at the awards ceremony, and the whole cinema slides under its seat in embarrassment, cringing and watching between fingers?

This, my friends, is the perfect metaphor for Brexit. A public humiliation so car-crashingly cringey that we cannot bear to look.

What, therefore, would the best policy be, post cancelled Brexit? To never mention it again? To do a Pammy, and pretend it was some kind of protracted nightmare from which we have finally woken up?

Brexit is like when an unremarkable relative gets insanely drunk at Christmas lunch, and starts mouthing off about immigrants, as the rest of you make nervous sideways eye contact.

After they have passed out in front of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, it is hastily decided to never mention their unpleasantness again, because it’s too toe-curling and nobody wants to go there again. Is that what Brexit will become?

Will it become the thing we all pretend never happened, because to acknowledge it is just too awful?

We’ve all done unfortunate things. Farted at funerals. Fallen down the stairs of the bus in high heels.

Woken up with someone whose name we can’t remember.

Mugged old ladies. Killed kittens. Mistakes get made. Sometimes, huge ones, especially if we, the voting turkeys, have been manipulated by self-interested sociopaths pretending to care about intangibles like taking back control or making something great again.

Brexit being cancelled will be like when someone hideous dies, and once they have been safely lowered into the ground or sent up the chimney, we pretend that they weren’t that bad, really. Bit of a character.

Had their funny ways. We only say this about the hideous once we are quite sure we will never have to see them again. Die, Brexit, die. And let us never speak of it again.