A rainbow patterned, magic unicorn spoke today of a nightmare it had last night in which it met the man who would be its end.
“Why did you say magic?” the rainbow unicorn demanded, as we sought to speak with it about the dream, “of course i’m magic. I’m a flipping unicorn. If you don’t believe in magic you can’t see me. And you’re asking me questions, so that says you believe in magic.”
We’re sorry, it’s just the description to make it clear you’re a real unicorn and not one of those Brexit ones.
“Don’t mention the B word please. It gives me the runs and it doesn’t look like you’ve bought a sandbox along for me to run to.”
We’re sorry. We won’t mention Brexit again.
“Now I have to run in circles three times to shake off the dark magic of hearing the B word twice in one minute.”
Unicorns lead more complex lives than we imagined.
“And why say nightmare dream? It’s obvious it’s a dream if it’s a nightmare!”
You’re more touchy than we imagined. Not at all like the ones in cartoons.
“And this surprises you?! Do you know the stress I’m under?”
We can only imagine.
“For over two years I’ve been pursued by 17.2M people determined to hack me to pieces and serve me up in the hope that my magic will make all the Brexit promises come true. Once you kill me. The magic dies with me.”
You said the B word.
“Oh for God’s sake. I’m about down with humans. If you see that David Davis idiot phone me and warn me on this burner phone. I’ve got to keep out of his reach. If he catches me it’s all over.”
He’ll never catch you.
“What makes you so certain?”
You don’t spend enough time in the publicly subsidised House of Commons bar.
“I always feel like I’m being called there. Along with my friend the enchanted, empty cigarette packet.”