Don't feed the trolls

As Brexit Day approaches and the Remoaners become ever more frantic in their garment-rending and shrill in their spiralling invective, it is curious that they need to tell themselves that it is the Leavers who are somehow triggered. Possibly – and they have demonstrated this propensity many times – they don’t understand what the word means. Let’s face it, they have never understood the concept of leaving, somehow mistaking the clear instruction of the electorate, for a far more vague and woolly half-exit, inventing soft-Brexits and Brexit-lites to somehow keep their dream alive.

But triggered? The Cambridge English Dictionary (Oxford English is so discredited these days) defines triggered as “experiencing a strong emotional reaction of fear, shock, anger, or worry…” I see no such fear, shock anger or worry among the Leavers. What I do see is Brexiteers increasingly bemused by the antics of the woke joke that is Remain. Bemused and amused at the lengths some will claim they will go to keep their dream alive long after roseate fingered dawn has intruded on their slumbers. I say claim because some of their declarations are way beyond the borders of fantasy:

They will refuse to handle the Brexit 50p; who even looks at the coins in their pocket? They will turn the lights off at eleven o’clock tomorrow night for ten minutes; to what purpose, other than to signal their defeat? They will continue to fly the EU flag, which jingoistic behaviour is one of the things they say they abhor the most in patriotic Little Englanders. They will get Ode to Joy – a good old Hitlerian jingle – to Number One on Friday. They will refuse to conduct business with anybody supporting Brexit; how will they know?

Meanwhile the cheerleaders for the Fourth Reich – Femi ‘tits’ Oluwole, Steve ‘Dave’ Bray, Mad Madeleina Kay ‘Alas’tair Campbell, Jolyon ‘Foxy’ Maugham and on and on and on continue to predict doom and disaster, swear allegiance to a political construct and generally behave like pre-teens denied Internet access and ice cream. If nothing else you might think they would display some signs of embarrassment, but no; Eyes tight shut they clench their little fists, stamp their tiny feet and thcweam and thcweam and thcweam.

If nobody is studying this then they really should consider it because there at least a dozen PhDs to be had from it. Is there something we are missing? I mean, maybe there is a prize for the biggest, the most outlandish, the most inventive expression of pain? The biggest hurty? Or maybe the joke really is on us and the plethora of parody accounts apeing them has become indistinguishable from the real thing? Either way I still don’t feel triggered; do you?

I hope tomorrow night’s party is well attended and peaceful, although the majority of Leavers will more likely mark the occasion by turning off the lights and going to bed, possibly after a civilised night cap. I do hope the celebrations are not disturbed or provoked by remainers continuing to protest at a done deal, long after the whistle has been blown. And I do hope that none of them carry out some of the more outlandish acts of self-harm they have threatened…  unless, of course, they are funny!