Yesterday, from the bus window, I got to witness what I imagine a no deal Brexit will be like.
Basically, we stopped at the terminus, for want of a better word, for six whole minutes. In this time a man who had only got on the bus probably two stops before me, so had been on the bus upwards of four minutes, jumped off to have a smoke because it had been so long since his last one.
The bus driver also disembarked to vape, and read six minutes worth of his book.
The smoker – a foreign gentleman of, probably, Mediterranean heritage, meandered about a bit.
And then started shaking the trees.
And here it was, the future of our country. When food stuffs are trapped in lorries and the M25 is used as a car park until such time as the aforementioned lorries can be moved on, this is our future.
We’re going to be jumping off buses at the waiting stops and shaking hazelnuts out of trees.
He must have got, oh I don’t know, eleven nuts in his shaking time. He excitedly gave some to the bus driver who, I can honestly say, did not know what to do with them and held them in his hands for too long before just putting them in his breast pocket like that’s an entirely normal thing to do with hazelnuts that have been harvested from a tree at a bus stop at the top of a skanky road, opposite an old people’s home.
And if that’s not Brexit right there, forcing us to abandon shops and turn to foraging, then I don’t know what it is.
Well, I do. It’s a crazy foreign guy shaking nuts out of trees. It made a change for me to see him so upright, as I normally get to share one of the later buses home with him when he’s pissed as a fart and can only manage to say the name of the place he lives and very little else.
That, though, might have something to do with the low alcohol absorbency of foraged hazelnuts.