We fled Balham after the result, having been outed as the only Leave voters in Lambeth. The builder boyfriend and I packed our possessions into the Volvo and headed for the safety of a friends’ house in Hampshire.
‘Come on, quick, leave the bloody third pair of wellies, just bring the essentials,’ said the BB as he lifted the spaniel into the boot.
We took bedding and towels and baskets of tinned goods in case we decided it was too risky to return, and that the only option was to keep fleeing. Maybe we would just keep driving until we found a cottage for sale. We might put in an offer and camp until the sale went through, and I would take whatever I could get for the flat and sod the loss of equity.
Clearly, we could not stay a moment longer in the People’s Republic of South London, which is about to declare itself a European satellite state.
In Lambeth, where the tofu-munching, solar panel-toting, blueberry and quinoa smoothie-slurping liberal intelligentsia classes delivered an 80 per cent Remain vote, we were truly out on a limb.
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