So I’m sitting in the cafe in St James Park, looking out towards Whitehall – the pulsating heart of British Government. I’m wondering how many of my former civil service colleagues are suffering from ‘Divorce Separation Blues’ (Avett Brothers).
And why ‘on the stairs’? It seems to me the relationship between Britain and the EU is rather like going to a party. We were reluctant to go to this particular gig – we thought the vibes might be better elsewhere (EFTA anyone?), and we were worried they wouldn’t let our friends come in with us (viz, sheep from New Zealand). Then eventually we said we’d go on certain conditions (‘It all depends on the terms – H. Wilson).
No sooner had we arrived than we had a quick vote on whether to stay, and ever since we got in we’ve been complaining about the food, the drink, the other guests, and how the party is organised.
Now we’ve decided to leave to explore the world, and we’re on the stairs on the way to the exit door. Will we have second thoughts? – apparently the guy who drafted Article 50 doesn’t share the common view its irrevocable. But more to the point, will the other guests ever let such a arkwark fellow back in?
Perhaps De Gaulle was right when he described us as a ‘maritime nation’ ill suited to join his European party?
gleedsaling 
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