Now all that General Election nonsense is out of the way, our full (and it has to be said wearied) attention can be turned to the much more onerous matter of Brexit. (Sigh.)
There has already been a lot of posturing on both sides and particularly on our side much of the debate has been about who will be representing the UK.
Well, I don’t think we should be sending politicians at all. I’ll tell you why, too… we have something much much better. It’s called a ‘Derren Brown’.
The ‘Derren Brown’ in question is the closest thing on this planet to a jedi knight. Not only can he tell what you’re thinking before you think it, he has perfected the ‘jedi mind trick’, which basically means he can get inside your head and influence your decisions.
‘You don’t need to worry about these negotiations...’
‘We don’t need to worry about these negotiations.’
‘This isn’t the £100bn you’ve been looking for.’
‘This isn’t the £100bn we’ve been looking for.’
Never mind us paying them £100bn, if Dezza was leading negotiations, it would end up with them paying us £100bn.
Even if we do not decide to deploy ‘the Derren’ front and centre, I think politicians should give serious consideration to asking him to populate some quiet backroom, where he can be suitably mic’ed up, watching negotiations on cctv with his jedi eyes, feeding suggestions and comments during the process.
The other person I would deploy is Eddie Izzard, because he would serve as a frivolous distraction, which will help Derren.
This is how events would unfold: Derren enters, tells the ashen-faced EUers to think of a number but not to tell him what it is. (Smirks all round.) But a couple of swift head-nods from Derren, followed by some covering smiles and deft touches on the shoulder (during which he also removes Michel Barnier’s tie, watch and wallet without him knowing) and the whole of the EUers are in disarray. One is pretending to be a bear, another is rolling around on the floor like a baby and Barnier has gone to sleep standing up.
“Eyes open, you’re back in the room…” What was that number again?
“£100bn,” utters Barnier, transfixed. “We owe the UK £100bn… plus interest.”
Derren, meanwhile, gets a knightood (maybe two), a lifetime supply of cheese, a rather nice carved wood chess set and possibly some sort of rare malt whiskey, by way of a ‘ta very much’.
Middle Age (Plus Kids) Makes You Tired
Not that long ago, I was one of those people who could stay up well past midnight (usually watching another episode of The Sopranos), then get up for work the next day and do it all again the following night. Usually, drinking was involved too.
Now, however, two children in, I appear to have turned into my dad and regularly fall asleep on the couch (I only know this because I regularly wake up on the couch freezing cold at about 2am, after which I stagger upstairs while trying not to stub my toe on any radiators or stand on any cats/children’s toys). It doesn’t seem to make any difference how much sleep I get, come half ten, I’m zonked. Worryingly, this even happens when the kids stay out at their grandparent’s. Even when the date is in the diary and I try my best to prepare by banking sleep and doing the odd bit of exercise, come the day and my best laid plans to enjoy a wild night on the ale all seem to end the same way - me falling asleep on the couch at 10.30pm.
This is disappointing, if not entirely understandable. By the time I’ve finished working, then looking after the kids, making their tea, cleaning up the mess, being continually harassed by our three cats, putting the little ‘uns to bed, telling them a story, putting them to bed again after they creep downstairs and making our own tea/supper/evening meal, it’s all I can do keep my eyes open for half an hour’s worth of tele.
And that’s a hard habit to break.