If only Brexit had been a game
During the run-up to the general election, my children and I took our new puppy for a walk around the block. A campaigner for Ukip, presumably spying a happy scene ripe for spoiling, approached. If there was, as the prime minister once suggested, racism in the Ukip pamphleteer's closet, its whiff did not dampen the generosity of our dog's greeting. As the man handed me a sticky leaflet, the puppy peed in excitement on his shoes, before trying to hump his leg, wetly.
The scene was a cause of great hilarity for my children, none of whom will be able to vote for another two general elections. "Barney peed on the Ukip man," they'd tell bewildered visitors during the following days and weeks. It was a minor victory for a generation to whom so much worse has been done by this political class.
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