The wheels on the bus...

The Brexit road has been a potholed, rutted track of ridiculous confected complexity. At every turn, our offers have been rejected, our proposals trashed, our stance ridiculed and short of actually baring his arse at us, Michel Barnier and his geriatric band of EU antagonists has made it abundantly clear that any deal will favour the EU. Of course, it's his job to take the piss; it’s a shame our supposed government ‘team’ hasn’t managed, with a flourish of typical British humour, to take the piss right back.

So what does Jeremy Corbyn think he is doing? Forget the Islington set and their love-in with the wonderful EU, before which Britons were confined to sitting in ditches, eating raw carrots and clothing themselves in mud. Labour’s traditional core vote, the white working classes, who The Party trots out daily as victims of Tory austerity, were utterly betrayed by this braying donkey and his fatuous ‘a’ customs union nonsense. Yesterday’s speech was not so much an announcement of Labour policy – it will be different in a week or so – as yet another election speech.

He can’t pretend it is anything else. He is in opposition, the next election should not be until 2022, when he will be 73 – and he is no The Donald. Corbyn is doing nothing more than pandering to the soft underbelly of the Tory Wets and making a bid to bring down the elected government. He has no mandate, beyond his own political bubble, to force a government defeat and in so doing to directly go against the largest plebiscite in British history

The Labour Party must suffer for this affront to the democratic process and Mrs May must dare to take up the challenge. Nothing less than destroying them, politically, will do. The time for consensus is over and Corbyn and rebels must be utterly discredited and confined to the silent back benches until the job is done. Leave the EU – no deal is infinitely preferable to the EU’s deal – get working on the future relationship and leave the election until the term is done.

Yes, Jezza, too much politics...

I don’t hate Jeremy Corbyn. I don’t even dislike him and I certainly wouldn’t lower myself to harbouring the kind of visceral spite that Momentum and its lynch mob mentalists have whipped up. I am happy to just about maintain a belief that Corbyn actually believes it when he says he wants a kinder, gentler politics. But what he is engaged in isn’t that. Just because you fervently believe in a dogma it doesn’t mean that dogma has any worth. If that was true, the baby Jesus would have brought peace on Earth by now.

The road ahead is clear and straight as an arrow. Don’t listen to the back seat drivers, Tess; put your foot down and pick up speed. Ignore the roadside attractions – they are fleeting fripperies and ultimately disappointing. The road leads us out of the morass of supranational interference in what should be our affairs alone. There is only one final destination for the Brexit bus. No stopping in the suburbs of Soft Brexit, no cruising through Under-Brexit, no stopping off for a cup of tea in Little-Brexit-in-the-Marsh; we need to get to Brexit and we need to get there soon.