I woke up cold. There were icicles forming on the end of my nose. The heating hadn’t worked for two weeks now. I was one of the last survivors in my street. I knew Brexit was going to bad news, but nobody had forecast that the weather would be quite so severe.
Those southerly winds that added some warmth to the British climate had stopped. Who were we to know of the enormous Anglo-German operation to redirect weather systems in the event of no-deal Brexit. Whilst central Europe basked in the warm Saharan air, we were fed Artic winds from the north. There had been sightings of penguins as far south as Birmingham, and Scotsmen in kilts were now on the northern fringes of London.
I was glad my neighbours were dead. It was uncomfortable watching them eat each other. I remember Boris mentioning in the days after Halloween that there were some problems with supply chains, but we could cope with no food. Britain had been through worse. He mentioned the Great Plague.
Still, as I lay here, alone, hungry and cold, wondering how long I could last, a smile came across my face. I had the one thing I had craved all my life. Since I was a small boy, the one crucial element my life had been missing. Now I had it. Sovereignty. Such a sweet victory.
I knew we had come through the worst of it. At first it was fun. Like when Boris relaxed gun-laws and appeared on TV welcoming the first container ship, filled with semi-automatics, courtesy of the new free trade deal with the US. They, in return, would get a new series of Downton Abbey and the copyright to Dr Who.
Like everyone I took my gun and enjoyed the sadistic pleasure of shooting the last few remainers. I’d waited so long for that moment. They deserved it. Sanctimonious bastards. Sadly, many had gone underground. They hid in wall cavities, or in the loft, writing their pathetic diaries, declaring ‘I told you so’. Many had fled to France. See how disloyal they were in the end.
With the remainers gone, with the EU gone, we were free and independent at last. Free of foreign food, and clothes, and oil and gas. We could start again.
Admittedly, I thought starting again would mean returning to just before we joined the EEC, but starting back to the time just after the Romans left is fine too. Time is only a concept. Wealth is just a concept. Food and survival, concepts.
But I must go back to sleep now. I’m feeling tired again. I’ve been like this for weeks. But soon it’ll all become clear. Boris has a plan. He’ll be there to tell us what it is. Just as soon as we get the power back on. I’m going back to sleep now, luxuriating in my own sovereignty.