I’ve had enough of red lines and backstops
talks us through BBB — Brexit Bollocks Bingo.
To distract ourselves from the prospect of wrestling each other to the ground in Tesco for the last bunch of post-Brexit bananas, and everything kicking off again in the North like the Good Friday Agreement never happened, let’s play BBB — Brexit Bollocks Bingo. Think of it as a form of occupational therapy. And spare a thought for we Irish and other long-suffering EU citizens who live in Brexitland, having to listen to this bullshit on a loop from every media outlet, every single day, forever and ever.
Sounds quite fun and swashbuckling, perhaps involving galloping horses, until you remember it’s a collection of wealthy men hellbent on furthering their own interests. See Dyson, Wetherspoons, Boris Johnson.
A made-up word that sounds useful, like something you’d prop the door open with, except it isn’t, and nobody knows what it really means, other than trouble.
What you’d like to carve into Brexit instigator David Cameron’s face, although Harry Potter actor Miriam Margolyes favours boiling him in oil. We could do both.
The term used in a New York Times essay to describe the “incestuous and self-serving ruling class” of Brexit’s “eternal schoolboys” with their “egoistic and destructive behaviour” and “arrogant obduracy” as they seek “a fantasy of imperial-era strength and self-sufficiency”. See also: chumocrats, Bullingdon Club, top-hatted workhouse beadle Jacob Rees Mogg.
Type of online communication favoured by a virulent strain of Brexit supporters for anyone who disagrees with them, ie Remoaners, Remaniacs. See also Liberal Elites, Metropolitan Marxists.
Not a 10-day fjord cruise for senior citizens, but something even duller about the UK joining the EFTA to access the EEA or some other dull, dull dullness. I just fell asleep there.
Adjectives to describe not the latest Andrex product, but the type of Brexit being bandied about by wildly incompetent politicians desperate to save their own political party, led by a mad-eyed zombie who won’t go away. Or the prime minister, as it still says on her office door.
What pensioners in Sunderland and the unemployed of Cornwall think they did when they believed the lies printed on the side of a large red Brexit bus. Something about the NHS getting £350m a week. See also: the will of the people, the people have spoken, xenophobia.
Second half of the name of a Noel Edmonds game show which ran from 2005 to 2016. Oh, and something terrifying which will result in ordinary commoners wrestling each other to the ground in Tesco if Teresa May doesn’t stop playing (chlorinated) chicken with Brussels.
No, not the one that caused this mess in the first place. Another one which will ask us — to paraphrase the Spice Girls — what we want, what we really really want, now that we know what we don’t want.
What the media is screaming will happen on March 29, thanks to the Tory ship of fools. If only. Tragically, Brexit Bollocks is not going away. And what a gigantic distraction it is. What a trick. What a con.
