‘If we are going to Westminster to riot,’ I told my Brexit-voting friends over dinner at the Thai restaurant at our local pub, ‘then we are going to have to work out where to park. I don’t want to get a ticket.’
We shifted our noodles around our plates and chewed our sizzling beef strips thoughtfully. Outside in the country lanes of Surrey, the dark September evening was settling down, the owls hooted, and the screaming Remoaners in their EU berets seemed very far away.
‘Maybe we won’t have to go to London,’ said one of us, a farmer. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘that’s a good idea. We could just take part in local skirmishes.’
Everyone looked down at their plates. No one seemed very enthusiastic.
I wonder what form local skirmishes might take and whether people in the provinces would be expected to smash things. I don’t think I want to smash anything. I’ve never been in trouble with the law before, so I’m not altogether sure I know how to do it.
Does one simply walk up to a shop window and throw something through it? A chair, perhaps.
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