About Brexit: one notion I've adopted is that today England has neither a ruling party or an opposition.
In short, not much government at all.
Sort of a negative space.
Something more explored in art than geo-politics.
The Conservatives have their knickers in a twist — do I have that precious expression right? —because David Cameron, the genius who called the Brexit referendum, is resigning, and Boris Johnson, his rival for leadership of the Tories, is backpedalling fast as he can.
(Johnson, a classical scholar, has even been heard reciting Latin verses in reverse, and some ancient Greek, likewise.)
On the Labor side, turns out Jeremy Corbyn, the party's leader, didn't really fight to stay in the EU — too many worries about globalization innit — and is hemmed in by loud-mouthed Laborite anti-Semites who can't keep their opinions muted, in keeping with the usual conventions of English restraint.
No! Now it's all Protocols of the Elders of Zion, whot! (Is this a correct use of "whot"? Or would an all-purpose "innit" have done as well?)
It's kind of fun to see Brits being unintentionally funny. The UK is being broken back not to Little England, as C.S. Lewis might have fondly described it, or as Frodo, hero of the little people, defended it, in the LOR sagas, but to Monty Python England, Angle Terre the ridiculous, England the absurd.
"Can I to tawk to Missus Sawtre, please."
"What, won't take my cawl? Well bugger the French."
Not to mention the Germans, Poles, Italians, Belgians, and whomever didn't grow up speaking the King's.
There are some who think the Jabberwocky —not the Jabberwocky personally given his termination suffered at the hand of the fiendish beamish boy — should rise up and claim their proper place in a dissolving Angleterre.
That vorpal sword branished by beamish boy? One idea is it goes to Brussels.