Not waving but drowning: how BREXIT landed me in hospital
Down in the depths, Boris and his sirens have slunk into the shadows. 'There is no plan,' they say in unison, sniggering behind jagged and yellowed teeth. 'Now you're down here, you just have to be bottom feeders along with the rest of us.' There's something nasty on the seabed. It's pulling at my ankle and I'm out of here. Millions more rise in a mass of bubbles towards the light and up to the surface to await rescue. But no-one comes so we band together to make a human raft. It is what it is and we have to jettison hate and anger and reach dry land, by paddling together. On the morning the referendum results came through, I was attached to a heart monitor in A&E. The hospital was full of it, the staff had been listening to the news all night. As I was wheeled up to the coronary care unit, the nurse in charge was upbeat. 'I voted for out,' she told all the patients, as if we should be thanking her personally for taking us to t...