These are my favourite Johnsons, in no particular order:

Ulrika (just because)
Dave (relative of ours)
Michael (wonderful bobbing sprinter)
Howard (for every ice cream, some of which Lila was finishing in that bowl)
The Brothers (Strawberry Letter 23; still a great song)
Johnson & (all that baby powder)
Gabi (watch Blazing Saddles again)

And these are some of my least favourites:

Boris (tosser Brexiteer)
Joe (tosser Remainer)
Rachel (sister of 2 tossers)
Stanley (father of all the above; hence no fucking chance, even before he went on some stupid reality show)

Please note that I didn’t include my penis in any of this Johnson talk because its such an American term and my penis is British.

But the current debate is about Johnsons off a sinking ship. First Boris resigned his cabinet post, not because he realised his position had become untenable due to him being a total embarrassment, but because the ‘Checkers plan’ for Brexit was so short of the mark from his perspective. Which is that of a rampant Brexiteer. The definitive ‘no deal’, leave with nothing proponent.

Now brother Joe has resigned his government post too. A lesser post as befits someone that virtually no-one has heard of and those who have aren’t unduly impressed. And Joe has resigned because the the Chequers Plan is so short of his mark, which is from his remaining position.

So ‘Chequers’ is too soft for Boris, too hard for Joe.

And thus, in their (rather annoying) way, these Johnsons have exemplified the entire mess that is Brexit. Not as some vague, wispy-washy concept in which we never have to speak French again or see the Polish builders nick our plastering jobs because they’re so much better than we are, but as an entire, all-encompassing, every-fucking-facet-of-our-lives nightmare. ‘Taking back the borders’, whatever the hell that even means, carries a big price. And the biggest price-tag is attached to the Irish border.

I’m actually at the point where I think we should just walk away from all of it. Just say a great big ‘au revoir’, ‘auf weidersein’, ‘Ciao’ and (something in Romanian) and work out what follows as we go along. What we call ‘no deal’. Because dealing with the Europeans is more difficult and obstructive than we even imagined it might be. It’s much easier to go to war against them than deal with them.

So fuck ‘em. And fuck the Irish. Because they will be.

Theresa May, for all her efforts, should have preparing our nation for this occurrence. But I fear there is kind’a no ‘plan B’. Mainly because there’s no ‘plan A’ either.

Such a mess.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx