Future generations may struggle to understand how one of the world’s largest economies spent years navigating the most complex political project in modern British history. The answer, unfortunately, is simple.
Britain handed Brexit to The Beano.
Not metaphorically. Not figuratively. Judging by the evidence, the country appeared to entrust the entire operation to a collection of comic-strip troublemakers whose chief qualifications were causing chaos, avoiding responsibility and occasionally setting fire to things they didn’t understand.
Leading the charge was Nigel Farage, cast perfectly as Dennis the Menace. Armed with a permanently deployed catapult and an endless talent for creating havoc before disappearing just in time to avoid the consequences, Dennis spent years demanding the school wall be knocked down. Once it collapsed on top of everyone, he was suddenly nowhere near the building site.
By his side bounded Boris Johnson’s faithful alter ego, Gnasher. Wild-haired, unpredictable and capable of generating destruction simply by entering a room, Boris possessed the remarkable ability to leave a trail of wreckage while somehow convincing half the country he was really the victim. Every crisis became an adventure. Every scandal was a misunderstanding. Every disaster was merely another exciting chapter in “What Boris Did Next.”
Meanwhile Michael Gove emerged as Roger the Dodger, forever producing elaborate schemes that sounded ingenious until somebody spent five minutes examining them. Roger never actually solved problems; he simply invented increasingly complicated ways of explaining why they weren’t his fault. If Brexit had involved selling the school gymnasium to buy magic beans, Roger would have presented a 200-page white paper explaining the benefits.
Lurking nearby was Jacob Rees-Mogg as Lord Snooty, wandering through the 21st century looking deeply offended by its existence. Snooty spoke nostalgically of a Britain that appeared to exist entirely in old cigarette cards and wartime newsreels. Whenever reality intruded, he simply adjusted his waistcoat and carried on as though the Empire was due back any day now.
Then came Iain Duncan Smith as Calamity James, a character whose defining talent is attracting catastrophe. Every prediction seemed destined to go wrong. Every certainty became an uncertainty. If James forecast sunshine, citizens instinctively bought umbrellas.
Nadine Dorries naturally assumed the role of Minnie the Minx. Energetic, rebellious and perpetually spoiling for a fight, Minnie never met a controversy she couldn’t make louder. While others searched for solutions, she preferred launching metaphorical stink bombs into the discussion and watching the resulting confusion.
The rest of the Brexit project was delegated to an assortment of Bash Street Kids. There were ministers who vanished before anyone learned their names. There were negotiators who appeared to regard preparation as a sign of weakness. There were MPs who confidently explained trade agreements while appearing only vaguely aware that other countries existed.
Cabinet meetings increasingly resembled Bash Street School after the teacher had suffered a nervous breakdown. One child was drawing plans on the blackboard. Another was releasing mice. Someone had glued the timetable to the ceiling. Lord Snooty was demanding a return to traditional ink wells. Roger the Dodger was insisting everything was going splendidly. Dennis was swinging from the light fittings.
And somehow this was presented as a serious governing strategy.
The miracle is not that Brexit encountered difficulties. The miracle is that the school remained standing at all.
Had Britain deliberately assembled a government from the pages of The Beano, it is difficult to imagine events unfolding very differently. The only thing missing was the comic’s final panel, where the headmaster arrives, surveys the devastation, and announces that everyone involved will be staying behind after school for the next decade.
