On Brexit

On Brexit

 There is no more effective way to wake up than with a hefty dose of adrenaline.

It is this adrenaline that is coursing through your body now, as the screeching of an alarm tears you from your slumber and assaults your ears.

It takes a second for your brain to process and categorize the noise.

The house alarm has more of a siren quality about it. It swells and collapses in on itself with a turn around time of around three seconds. It's enough to demand attention but not enough to instill panic.

That's not what you're hearing.

This sound is something like what you'd imagine a computer might make if it was being tortured. It's a frantic and shrill beep, cycling at around 60bpm.

Only as your mind concludes 'FIRE ALARM!' does your nose wake up and catch the smell of the smoke seeping in under your bedroom door.

Your partner is awake too. You don't remember standing up, but you're now both stood in the middle of the room.

"What do we do?" they ask.

"We need to save the couch," you reply. "We only just bought it we can't let it burn after just two days!"

"I don't care about the couch, what about the kitchen table? We'll never get another one like it!"

"Well we can't take both... I thought you loved that couch, we spent months finding the right one!"

"I do, but that table is a one of a kind!"

You can feel the temperature rising now. The smoke tickling the back of your throat.

"I don't even like that table," you say, "and anyway, we get more use out of the couch!"

The response is a familiar facial expression. They're not going to budge on this one.

"What if we put the couch on top of the table and carry both, you think we'd be able?"

"I don't think so."

"Well then I just don't know."

The fire is banging on the door now.

"Ok how about this," you say, "We take the single seater on the table, we should be able to carry both, but when this is over you're sitting on the floor."

"Fine."

"Good."

It's time to go, so you open the door and crouch low to the ground. The smoke is so thick that it feels like the screeching alarm shouldn’t be able penetrate it, but it does, and is now amplified further by the open bedroom door.

You feel your way to the sitting room to find that the couch and the single seater have both been destroyed already, as has the kitchen.

Coughing a spluttering you try to find your way to the front door but it's no good. The smoke is too dense and the flames too hot.

You look behind you with water filled eyes, but there's no one there.

It's getting really hard to breath now. Each attempt at a breath stings the insides of your lungs, reminding you of the first time you tried a cigarette.

Each cough is followed by a gasp for air, but there is only smoke... 

What does it all mean? 

When I think about Brexit and all of the political, social and media energy being spent on it I really can’t help but think of climate change and the fact that the couch and the table don't matter, the fucking house is on fire! 

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