- A spiteful Leave owl howled outside my woodland cabin window all through Monday night, the gloom-bird of ill omen. “Tu-whit tu-whoo. We voted to leave,” it cried. I am not a superstitious person, but the following day’s Brexit vote was weighing heavily upon my restless Remoaner mind. “Honk your triumphant misery outside someone else’s half-term holiday hut, you swivel-eyed loon,” I shouted into the dark. I got out of bed, pulled on my TK Maxx Batman™® lounging trousers and threw pine cones at the black space I imagined the doom-presaging hooter occupied. “Tu-whit tu-whoo. We voted to leave.”
Earlier, I had calmed myself with a hot mix of Bovril, whisky and funny foraged forest fungi. But now, as the depressing Brexit bird swooped past me in the dark, dodging my futile projectiles, it seemed to have, plastered on to its owl-shaped head, the smirking face of Laura Kuenssberg. The evil TV homunculus can barely contain her obvious giggling delight when news goes the government’s way, even if it is made-up news un-named Downing Street sources have given to her, knowing she will regurgitate it unquestioningly, like an owl pellet made of lies. “Tu-whit tu-whoo. We voted to leave.”
Ironically for Brexiter cheerleaders, should he finally implement his bullying Brexit bill, then all that is certain is that Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Bumboys Vampires Haircut Wall-Spaffer Spunk-Burster Fuck-Business Fuck-the-Families Get-Off-My-Fucking-Laptop Girly-Swot Big-Girl’s-Blouse Chicken-frit Hulk-Smash Noseringed-Crusties Death-Humbug Technology-Lessons Surrender-Bullshit French-Turds Johnson will go down as the worst prime minister in British history. “Tu-whit tu-whoo. We voted to leave.”