I’m not given to out-and-out anger, I’m more of a standing-in-the-wings-making-waspish-comments type. But as I drove to work on Friday, I was angry. Angry and upset. The vote had been put and the votes had been cast. We were out, out of Europe, out of friends and soon to be out of ideas on what to do next.
The central reservation between the carriageways was strewn with massive ‘vote leave’ placards. I wanted to screech to a halt, burst out of the car, rip them from the ground and jump up and down on them until they were pulp. I wanted to kick them, then set fire to them, extinguish them, then set fire to them again, grinding the ashes under my size eights. Boy was I vexed.
I didn’t of course, it may have helped me feel better, but no doubt some other commuter would have captured the act…
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