The penny's dropped. Well, the pound, too.
Earlier today I suddenly realised what's happened. Watching and listening to various interviews with Brexit big wigs it becomes clear that they haven't got a clue what to do next. Boris himself blusters about no need for any hurry. Really? Tell that to the EU.
It's as though there's been a school prank - a wizard wheeze - but which no one ever expected to go off quite so well &/or thought they'd never be found out. Watching Boris stumble through the crowd to the waiting car was rather like seeing the ring leader being called in to see the Head.
"You, was it, Johnson?"
"Er, no - I mean yes - I-er ... look, I'm terribly sorry about all this ...".
"You know Cameron Major has stood down & is no longer Head Prefect? And Osbourne is packing his bags as we speak."
"Really, sir? O crikey!"
"And you know the school tuck shop is going to have to close - just not enough licorice & jelly babies to go round."
"Gosh, as bad as that sir?"
"And matron & the cleaning staff will all be on the next boat home so you'll have to wash your own socks and make your own bed from now on. There, you didn't think of that, did you? So what are you going to do about it, Johnson?"
"Me? But it was Gove, sir. He's the one who egged us all on."
"Don't try to wheedle out & blame it on someone else, Johnson. Be a man. You're British, aren't you? At least that's what you've been banging on about the past six months."
"Yes, no, I-I- ... you see Sir, we never really meant to do any harm. It was just this jolly jape & things got out of hand. Can I ring my Papa? I'm sure he can write a cheque & sort it all out just like he did the last time ... & the time before that ... "
... to be continued ...