Wasn’t it Arlene Foster who said “Be careful what you wish for”? This morning she must be feeling those words gnawing at her soul. Brexit, which would clearly define the sovereignty of the UK, Brexit which would emphasise the honoured place of our stateen in that UK, Brexit which would show what a sovereign nation could achieve when led by a great man who’d attended a DUP conference to swear he would defend the stateen’s interests – that Brexit now is rising in the east, a dark sun draped in blood-drenched clouds.
Sammy Wilson may, of course, insist that Brexit does the near-impossible by making him more British than he already is; but then Sammy has always been at his best when, freed from responsibilities and clothing, he can act naturally. Not Sammy, not Arlene, not superpolite Jeffrey can ease the ravenous pain eating at DUP voters, who have been led thigh-high into a bog of Britishness with a stench of betrayal.
What’s most galling now, of course, is that by mimicking EU regulations, the stateen will find some solace, since that allows it to trade freely with the south of Ireland and the rest of the EU. But that will only give oxygen to those urging a reunited Ireland in the EU. Trade with Mother Britain, in contrast, will underline how detached the stateen has become from Mother Britain’s breast, with forms and regulations in place of cuddles and nourishment.
As for Scotland: you manufacture a language that emphasises your oneness with Scottish culture and what happens? The ungrateful bastards declare the future lies in Scottish independence from Britain and commitment to EU membership.
And we haven’t even mentioned the grim, contrasting Covid figures in the stateen and in the south. This tired grey morning, many accusing eyes will be turned on the DUP, who are rolled in a whimpering foetal ball, cursing the day they got what they wished for.
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