It’s like putting a Fox in charge of the hen house, as the old saying goes. The Fox in question took his eyes off the prize for a second to discover that Brexit had been whipped away under his very snout.
Naturally, Fox cried wolf and went to ground before the hue and cry could catch up with him. Secretary of State for Extreme Twattiness, Jeremy C. Hunt, pronounced himself to be mystified. Fox hunted, Hunt foxed.
LCD Views managed to speak to Dr Fox’s spokesfox, Mr Basil Brush.
“Nobody knows where Mr Liam has gone,” twinkled Brush, foxily. “You know why, don’t you? He’s a crafty old fox, boom, boom!”
Surely the problem is not solely down to Dr Fox?
“Ah, but a leopard can’t change his spots,” remarked Brush, wolfishly. “Mr Liam has gone to the dogs. You might even say he’s gone dogging, boom, boom!”
Noting that Mr Brush’s jokes were even weaker than in his heyday, and that he has resorted to bluer material in a vain attempt to cling on to his audience, we moved on.
Chaos, not seen since the last time John Bercow put his foot down, reigned in the chamber. Brexit was nowhere to be seen, and minions were scuttling about in a futile attempt to locate it. Rumour has it that the Army has been put on standby to round up and rescue Brexit.
A large number of shifty looking individuals with EU flags around College Green was rounded up and charged with the theft. “Caught red-handed!” declared arresting officer PC Gonmad, although it later became clear that these people wanted nothing to do with Brexit and merely had cold hands. Instead, they were charged with embarrassing a police officer, subverting autocracy, and drinking foreign muck like Prosecco.
Brexit is still believed to be missing. However, nobody knows for sure, since Brexit is the Urban Spaceman, baby, of politics, it doesn’t exist; even though, de facto, it does.
Brexit is a hot potato. Let’s hope it has had its chips.