My Brexit Grief is Pointless.

I’m almost too embarrassed to admit it but I had several bad dreams last night about the whole Brexit saga. I woke up early, went to the bathroom, washed my face, saw that it was still dark outside, climbed back into bed, prayed that when I woke up things would be different, eventually slept, woke up, hoped I’d been having a recurrent nightmare, checked my Ipad, saw the awful headlines were true, groaned, slagged off God, got up, made some coffee, turned on Sky news and watched scarcely credible madness unfold on my TV screen: Hilary Benn resigning, Corbyn hiding away in his house, Sterling plummeting on the global markets, Trump and Brexit signaling the rise of international populism, Trump and Rupert Murdoch consolidating their friendship, Brexiters saying that David Cameron should have had a plan ready for what to do when the Leave vote came through, Brexiters walking back false claims about imminent reduction of immigration and rivers of money being available for the NHS, Tory heroes trying to figure out how to stop Boris Johnson from becoming PM - and I started to cry. Yep, I was so deeply embarrassed by the wanton, wholesale chaos on display that I actually cried. I love my country. I am currently watching England become a byword for incompetence and it is not pleasant. I went online and looked for some words that are associated with the UK. The following came up: Tudors, Shakespeare, Nationalism, Bangers & Mash, Colonialism, Cool Britannia etc. Now only one word will do: Incompetence.