Imagine a packed coach hurtling along a motorway. The driver is reluctantly wearing a blindfold and her hands are removed from the steering wheel.
Fifty-two percent of the passengers are screaming at her to go faster and forty-eight percent are begging her to slow down and proceed with caution.
“Why is she doing this” they cry at the fifty-two percenters.
“Because we need to ram all the foreign cars from our roads. They’re causing too much congestion; it’s far too crowded” came their exuberant reply.
“But this can only end in disaster. She has no vision of the road ahead and could kill us all before we get there – that’s if we even get there”
“Stop worrying. Everything will be OK. Our driver says she knows what she’s doing and has promised she will deliver us to our destination unscathed”
At that point the coach crashes through the barrier, tumbles across a green field, seriously wounding its occupants. The driver is killed outright.
A menacing black executive BMW pulls to a stop on the hard shoulder, overlooking the scene of the crash. Its darkened window descends revealing the insipid faces of three men. One of them portrays an air of insanity and flaunts a shock of unkempt white hair. It makes him stand out from his fellow passengers. He is known as Boris.
“It seems we might have got it wrong after all” he says dryly.
His two companions nod their heads in unison, like marionettes operated by a skilled puppeteer.
“She always used to say politics is not a game but this was actually quite fun.”
The window space returns to darkness as the vehicle continues its journey. The carnage created by the three men has already spun its way from their memories as a timid voice asks: “What can we play next BJ?”
That’s my view on Brexit!