Let’s rein in Brexiteer triumphalism before we all go mad

According to archaeologists and all the papers last week, the 11th-century villagers of Wharram Percy, North Yorkshire, used to mutilate their dead, chopping off their heads and breaking their legs to minimise the danger of zombie resurrection. ‘Imagine being afraid,’ I chortled while reading this, ‘that the undead might put you in mortal danger!’ Whereupon I flicked forward a couple of pages and came across Michael Howard’s plan to defend Gibraltar by sending a gunboat.

Personally, I’m against the idea of war with Spain. Although I say that cautiously, because we Remoaners must not hold back the will of the people. Indeed, such is the way of things these days, the more I were to rail against war with Spain, in my whiny, quinoa-eating way, the more attractive the prospect would presumably become, what with upsetting the likes of me now being a decent political reason to do almost anything. ‘It’s worth it to see your liberal tears!’ I’d be told, as the Tornados rained fire on Seville, and that’s a trap I’m keen to avoid.