A no-deal Brexit is looming, in the middle or aftermath of the worst pandemic we have ever seen. Talks on our relationship with the EU have become as fraught and protracted as Ross and Rachel over 10 series of Friends, but I'm not sure we will ever get our happy ending. Maybe at some point we will try and get back with them imploring how we acted terribly and Britain will just end up shouting We were on a break!!! 
 
In a strangely Agincourtesque maneuver, the Brexiteer ideologues are intent on using chlorinated chicken as bolts for weapons and firing them from their economic crossbows into our mouths from across the Atlantic, sticking two fingers up at us taunting our free tree food predicament while making us poorer in the process. 
 
We have to do something desperate. Priti Patel is home secretary for godsake. A woman so rightwing, the death penalty doesn't go far enough, she wants to let the grim reaper loose on the afterlife. Either we do something serious or Syria simply won't be ready for the influx of UK refugees.  
 
It has been 75 years since a land war in Europe. The Eu has helped protect that legacy. But now, I am asking them to shrug that off, and save Britain from itself. A recalcitrant late stage teenager hellbent on a path of self destruction. Brussels, we throw ourselves at your mercy. Grab some German tanks and some French troops and give us a real battle of Britain. Actually don't bother with the French. 
It's a crazy world. Liverpool have won the league for godsake. The channel is wide open. Besmirch the white cliffs of Dover with the blue and gold of the European flag.  
 
Boris Johnson thinks of himself as Churchill – well, let's put things on a war time footing. European Union – invade us. Save us from ourselves. You tried diplomacy that failed. Wake up the military industrial complex. Put together that EU army Farage warned us about. There isn't any fighting spirit left. You won't fight us on the beaches - we're too busy sunbathing less than a metre away on them from each other, defecating in sand dunes and littering our own countryside, like petulant children who have gone feral.  
 
Time to tame us. Time to invade us.