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This Week In Brexit Land: Poisoned By Toxic Tory Politics

This Week In Brexit Land: Poisoned By Toxic Tory Politics

In this week’s instalment our regular diarist Millennial Falcon finds out very little about Boris Johnson and develops an irrational fear of pencils…

Monday 17th June
I’ve been caught in the pernicious trap set by Sky and fallen head-first into Reactor 4 of Chernobyl. Of course they knew what they were doing, those infernal TV execs. Like everyone else I signed up for Now TV in order to watch the last season of GOT but I’m too negligent to get around to cancelling my subscription, so instead I jump on the hype train of the latest ‘must see’ show rather than admit that I’m paying for a subscription I don’t need. Still the horror and mutilation was a welcome distraction when I inadvertently turned on the Conservative Leadership debate and saw the future - I did think the empty lectern was a fitting represhentative for Boris Johnson’s policies though.

Tuesday 18th June
Thanks to Chernobyl I have developed a phobia for graphite and spent the morning trying to rid my desk of all the pencils in the vicinity. I see the images online of Trump in Orlando and I’m brought back there, to 2016 and my disbelief that anyone would take the marmalade molester seriously far less vote for him. I consider packing my quarantined pencils in an envelope and posting them to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue as a sort of mildly grubby bomb.

Wednesday 19th June
In Chernobyl as the disaster deepens and threatens to spin out of control a bunch of increasingly hapless bureaucrats try to obfuscate and avoid responsibility. When the credits roll I flick over to the BBC Leadership Debates where a bunch of hapless bureaucrats...
Ugh I’m too disgusted by the spectacle to bother completing even the most lazy of jokes. Perched on their stools it looks like the reunion of the worlds weirdest boyband. I rush to social media in the vain hope of trading my humorous insight for digital affirmation but it’s too late, Twitter is already awash with boy band puns. My favourite - The Backstop Boys.

Thursday 20th June
Took the day off sick today, not sure what it is but I feel as nauseous as the time Previous Significant Other started outlining the arguments for FPTP when we experimented with speaking dirty during lovemaking. I mean you never know what to expect but I think I would have preferred some weird faecal fetish any day.
My illness isn’t helped by the headline in the Guardian on how young adults have seen a major slump in their discretionary spending power. The guilt of my Now TV subscription burns guilty in my empty stomach. Paralysed on my couch I look around the flat for some morsel of consolation, proof that I’m not one of The Left Behind when my gaze lands on the bin by my desk. Of course that must be it! I must have radiation poisoning from the nuclear pencils.

Friday 21st June
My mother phoned this morning to see if I was feeling better and find out why on earth I was texting her at midnight to see if she had iodine pills in her medicine cabinet. I was forced to hang up when she started praising Mark Field for ‘taking care of that awful bloody hippy woman’.
Turned on the news to find out that my appetite for iodine hadn’t been entirely misplaced, Trump had narrowly avoided kicking off World War 3 by bombing Iran during the night. I suppose if things keep on this path I won’t be the only person considering sending long conical nuclear objects to the White House. Spend the rest of the day trying to figure out why that gives me so much solace.

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