This Week In Brexit Land: Welcome To Love Island
A first instalment from our new guest diarist and self-declared liberal snowflake Millennial Falcon. This week her days are haunted by a strange combination of Donald Trump and Love Island.
Monday 3rd June
And so it began, all the orange fake tan, white teeth and carefully coiffed hair - no not Love Island of course, but the imminent arrival of Trump on these shores. This morning I woke up sweating from a dream where I was in the Love Island house. I was in a happy relationship with Justin Trudeau until The Donald turned up and I was chosen to couple up with him. No more cheese before bed methinks!
Tuesday 4th June
As I watch the evening news and see Trump try to fist bump Her Majesty my eyes start to get heavy and before I know it I'm back there - on the island. My left arm is orange following a night of spooning and the cleaning staff are desperately power-hosing fake tan from the bedsheets. Meanwhile it seems that Trump is grafting hard with Queen Elizabeth. He assures me they are just talking but I can't help feeling he's keeping his options open.
Wednesday 5th June
Went to the local GP surgery to get my travel inoculations (Bolivia if you must know). Since I booked an appointment six weeks ago I assumed I wouldn't have long to wait and didn't bring a book. So I amuse myself for an hour watching for errors in the Sky News subtitles on the muted television. When the presenter announces 'Donut Trump says NHS is on the table for future frayed negotiations' I look around the the crowded waiting room and wonder why.
Thursday 6th June
I don't know if it was the jabs or the deep fried brie but last night it all went off in my Love Island dreams. The producers had made the wise decision to switch to orange sheets for the remainder of the season, not that it mattered as Donald was sleeping on the couch. His heart was torn between two lovers - Theresa May had entered the night before dressed as a sexy nurse and immediately coupled up with Chuka Umunna - bad news for The Queen who was voted off. The Maybot’s appearance turned Trump’s head who became excited at the prospect of having the NHS on the table after all. it was at this point I woke up screaming.
Friday 7th June
It was poignant to see the footage of the veterans in Normandy beach today even if they were standing beside the Draft-Dodger -In-Chief. I desperately needed to see something wholesome, the same way one sometimes craves a salad after a gin-soaked weekend. For you see dear reader, the night terrors had not abated only intensified. Nigel Farage was the new arrival on the island and caused quite the stir with the ladies when he turned up wearing only a tweed jacket, driving gloves and Union Jack thong. Anne Widdecome feinted and only the kiss of life from David Dimbleby could resuscitate her. Then the result of the public vote for who should share the hideaway for a night of passion was finally revealed - it was Donald and I. So, in a scene reminiscent of Requiem For A Dream, I trudged reluctantly into the love shack as a naked Trump closed the door behind me - it is what it is I suppose.
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