The worrying scenario grows closer. It’s Cliff Brexit, careening off the white cliffs of Dover on his way to destroy his own country by the act of his suicide.
I shout out to him:
Don’t go over the Brexit cliff, Cliff!
But he is not listening. He has a job and a plan and he’s going to get there come hell or high water.
How far down is it to the bottom of the cliffs? He hasn’t got a chance.
But he’s single minded.