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Theresa May has singlehandedly radicalised millions of Remainers with her rock-solid inability to compromise on Brexit in any way, shape or form.
Looking back at the morning of the referendum result. I'd been up all night, watching the result come in, ageing at a year an hour.
Looking back at the morning of the referendum result. I'd been up all night, watching the result come in, ageing at a year an hour.
Then David Dimbleby pronounced the final verdict, like a doctor communicating a terminal illness.
I was shocked. Utterly blank. I cried. The rest of the day passed in zombie mode, not least because of the all-nighter (note to self: what's ok as a student isn't 25 years later.)
I was shocked. Utterly blank. I cried. The rest of the day passed in zombie mode, not least because of the all-nighter (note to self: what's ok as a student isn't 25 years later.)
I was angry. Confused. Lost. But after a while I started to think about the future. My Norwegian friend seems to do OK - perhaps if the UK could be like Norway it wouldn't be too bad.
Then the red lines came in. And the interminable circular speeches.
Then the red lines came in. And the interminable circular speeches.
The appointing of people one wouldn't even trust to open a tube of toothpaste. The rows. The Tory party showdowns. The rise and rise of the ERG. The infinite lies. Theresa May's deal returning again and again like something impossible to ignore, yet unspeakably unflushable.
Packs of Brexit Secretaries, like buses. Checquers. Futile dashes to Brussels. Vacuous non-press conferences with less news value than the contents of my handkerchief. Theresa May's deal again, and again, and again, rubbed in our faces. The 48% ignored.
Strong and stable, Brexit means Brexit, nothing is agreed until everything is agreed, no deal is better than a bad deal, they need us more than we need them. Gah!
People promoted so far above their pay grade they couldn't even see it as a speck down below.
People promoted so far above their pay grade they couldn't even see it as a speck down below.
Contempt of Parliament. Delays, obfuscation, procedural trickery. Votes pulled and delayed, again and again. Amendments ignored. MPs whipped six ways from Sunday. And Theresa May's deal running through everything like a hellish motto through a stick of seaside rock.
Theresa May, you're the reason I fight. You're the reason that I will not be satisfied until Brexit is dead and buried. You're responsible for me being here in London, waiting to go on a march with a million likeminded souls.
You did that. You radicalised me. Take a bow.
You did that. You radicalised me. Take a bow.
