Brexit changes nothing
I’ll admit it, I was temporarily stunned. Jacob Rothschild had called for a Remain vote. What else was there to talk about? I hadn’t seen that one coming.
For an entire minute it felt as though there was a chance of a return to the halcyon days, an end to the insanity of moral confusion: no more ripping right things from their places and twisting them into troubling, hybrid forms. Children would be able to play safely in the streets again; decency and order would return; Britain would rise phoenix-like from the ashes of a pitiable self-parody in decline; men would wear tweed, and the women would stop walking like nightclub bouncers and swearing at their children in the high street.
The attempt to brand as morally compromised those who want something other than cultural obliteration for the UK seemed to have failed. O, happy days.
Then I had breakfast.