Construction of the Road to Brexit, which goes from… somewhere… to… somewhere else, has apparently ceased. The reason is that costs have gone way over budget.
The illustrations are impressive, at least. They show a wide, sweeping expanse of glittering tarmac, elegant junctions, and hundreds of happy people in their cars. The only snag is that the route has not been defined. The map simply shows two dots, one marked “Here” and the other “Brexit”, and the Road, drawn freehand in crayon, more or less joins the two.
LCD’s Single Track Roads correspondent tracked down the construction headquarters with some difficulty. It turned out to be a shabby Portakabin in a field in the middle of nowhere. Cows munched the grass solemnly. There was no sign of the Road anywhere.
An old chap with an old spade and mucky wellingtons was in front of the Portakabin, digging a border. His name turned out to be Bill Droads.
Where is the Road to Brexit? we asked.
“It should be here,” replied Droads. “The first roundabout should be in the next field, and the main carriageway should be where you are standing.”
Should be? Should be? But this Road needs to be built immediately, doesn’t it?
“That’s right,” Droads confirmed. ”But construction has had to be halted before it has even started, because of cost overruns.”
How come? Nothing has been built yet.
“There has been a lot of money spent,” Droads said icily. “There’s the Managing Director, Finance Director, Marketing Director, a whole load of architects and management consultants, fancy offices in the heart of London, the works. There have been meetings, lunches, and a huge launch gala. All this has to be paid for. Unfortunately, nobody thought to plan a route or employ anyone to construct the Road.”
So it’s just you, in a Portakabin in a field?
“Yes. I even brought my own spade,” Bill confirmed. “They were too chicken to ask Carillion. I once tarmacked David Davis’ front drive so they asked me to do the job. But with no budget left I couldn’t do much. I can’t even ring up some mates to lend a hand as there’s no bloody signal out here!”
We decided to leave Bill to his border.
“Don’t tell them about the border!” he warned. “They will transfer me to Ireland!”
Rumour now has it that the Road will be orbital, like the M25. It doesn’t matter how far you drive, you always come back to where you started, sooner or later.