Friday, 20 October 2017

Please EU, give me something: Brexit means Brexit.

Today the EU ministers of the remaining EU27 held their meeting to discuss progress on Brexit. In under 120 seconds they agreed there had not been sufficient progress to allow trade negotiations to begin. But, they would allow internal preparations in anticipation for a start in December.

May, Davis and the BBC spun this as good news, but the sting in the tail for May and her brave band of Brexiteers is that progress has to be made on all three of the basic issues. I know you have heard this from me before, but listening to the three above, one would believe that money was the only sticking point, not citizen's rights and the Irish border too.

A treasury report on the impact of a "no deal" Brexit was leaked last night, sent to a lawyer who has been a driver in forcing the UK Government to follow their own laws regarding Brexit. It makes gloomy reading, that through this total farce of the protracted initial negotiations, then trade and the rest, only for Britain to be so much more worse off at the end of it, and be that worse of each and every year.

Problem is for Britain and May is that each country in the EU27 has their own idea on how much we might actually owe them. And then the chancellor talks about how much is legally owed. Let me restate that if Britain goes down the legal route, which they might end up winning, could take years maybe a decade to win, and we leave the EU in 18 months time, and if there is no agreement on these three issues, then no trade deal. No travel deal. No EURATOM deal. No FTA. No citizen's right. Hard boarder through the middle of Ireland. Nothing. Nada.

How badly does Britain want a deal? Or put it this way, how much is Britain willing to pay in the settlement to get trade discussions moving?

But the real problem for Britain is that Brexit is by some way not the most important issue facing the EU27; Catalonia, the rise of the far right. Russia, Trump. Brexit should be easy. But then it is with Britain, who still does know what it wants, and is split in Cabinet, Government, Parliament and country. And deal is likely to be rejected by some part of Parliament, and/or one of the EU27.

The chief executive of Goldman Sachs was in Frankfurt yesterday for meetings, and tweeted how much he enjoyed the city and its climate. Just as well, he added, as I will be coming here much more #brexit . A real kick in the teeth to the City of London, and a part in the Conservatives that once tried to be the party of business and The City, and would have caused so much hell if a Labour Government was willing to allow London to lose its place as the financial and pharmaceutical centre of Europe. Now it is just part of the process, an everyday story of rats deserting the Brexit ship.

Still, sunlit uplands and mustn't talk the country down. Rule Britannia and all that.

Thursday 19th October 2017

Time to go home. Again. I wake up to see the light showing through the curtains, although I have to play the guess the time with the clock who said it might be as early as ten to six. Twenty past seven was the right answer.

I have a shower, pack and then have breakfast. It is quiet, and dull outside, but my mood is light as I will be back with Jools and them cats by nightfall. Every reason to be happy.

I load the car and remember to leave the door key in the safe beside the door. All ready now for the drive. I programmed the sat nav for Long Melford in Suffolk as a stop off point for lunch and as there is a very special church there. Although, you will not be disappointed to learn that the first part of the journey was along our old friend the 143, over the marshes to Beccles and then to Bungay, Diss before the sat nav then lead me along a series of six foot sixers, or narrow lanes, through woods, small villages and past churches just begging to be investigated. But that could be left for another day.

Across the railway line between Ipswich and Bury, then the A14 and further into the Suffolk badlands where every house could harbour a Town fan.

I eventually turn onto a main road, and sure that I am near to Melford. I turn off the main road along what must have once been the main road, coming to a crossroads where on the right hand side, the church stands next to the manor house and a pilgrim's hospital, both Tudor.

Holy Trinity, Long Melford, Suffolk I park the car at the bottom of the lane that lead to the church, which was lined on one side by timber framed houses, overhanging the road, whilst at the top on the other side was the Tudor hospital. And then the view opened up to reveal the church, a church on the scale of a cathedral, all built of flint of course, but with a substantial Lady Chapel at the east end, separate from the church, looking from that direction like a merchant's house, at least from the outside, with it's triple gable end.

THe church is vast, and the north side is filled with the finest collection of medieval stained glass I have ever seen. It is remarkable, filling the whole church with wonderful light. And then elsewhere there are brasses and private chapel to investigate, before leaving the church and walking to the Lady Chapel, of which I was the only visitor for a full quarter of an hour, with more fine ancient glass and wonderful carved roof beams. A stunning church

Back in the car, the sat nav claimed that I was within two hours and twenty minutes from home, which seemed optimistic, but lead lead me along the main road, then through some oddly names villages before emerging onto the A12 near to Chelmsford and the service station there, meaning I could fill the car up, as it had been reminding me for half an hour about the state of the fuel tank. That done, it was a twenty minute run to the M25, then along to Grays, over the bridge and into Kent.

I take the A2 as I was going to call in on the way to see how Jen was, and with the rush getting over the river done, I slow down to a stately 50 mph and enjoy the drive as people rush by me.

At Jen's, all is good. Well apart from Tony not being here any more of course. I was there when the coroner called, and said of the cause of death was heart disease, like Mum just had a close shave with. We have a cuppa and she tells me who she has spoken with this week, including her wayward son, Scott, who is working on some small island of the east coast of Australia. That cheered her up after hearing from the coroner.

And then it was time to go home, feed the cats and prepare dinner for when Jools returned from work. Almost back to normal. Almost.

The cats are fed, and there is pea and ham soup to warm up, not too difficult. After dinner we talk, but we both are so tired. We try to watch some TV but by nne we were so pooped we go to bed, whilst outside the wind blew and the rain fell.

A Russian Brexit conundrum

I have stayed away from commenting on what has been happening in the US, because quite frankly, with the clusterfuck that is Brexit going on here, we have no kudos to be able to point an accusing finger at another country trying to screw things up the the extent that we are. However, clearly there has been collusion between Trump's team and the Russian government, evidence is out there already, from e mails to links and all this is under several investigations.

But did Russia help with the Brexiteers for the referendum?

Well, a lot of money was thrown at the various leave campaigns, and quite where it came from remains a mystery. One of the more interesting cases is where did the DUP get the half million quid they spunked in the last few weeks of the campaign? Where did Aaron Banks get his money from, and where does Cambridge Analitica fit in to Brexit and the Trump presidency? Also, leaking of mails, how come Wikileaks only targeted the Dems, who was the link man between Trump and Wikileaks? Well, none other than arch Brexiteer, Nigel Farrage, who was photographed leaving the Ecuadorian Embassy back door, where Assange is holed up trying to evade a rape rap, and when asked why he had been there, Farrage stated he could not remember. This was as he was leaving the building. Man of the people, Nigel, was the first person to be photographed with the triumphant Trump after the election last November, gloating with Trump outside his gold plated lift.

Splitting the EU would benefit Russia, as would a weakened US, which let us not forget Trump has failed to nominate the vast number of positions in Government nine months after taking office; there is no amassador to North Korea of Secretary of State. But the EU trading block, weakened would make it easier for Russia to push its weight around.

Anyway, on Thursday night May spoke at a dinner for EU Ministers begging them for help in trying to sell a deal to the UK for her. This is what strong and stable leadership looks like, and at the same time is taking back control. Today, Friday, the EU is expected to issue the obvious rejection that "sufficient progress" has been made in talks so a second front on trade cannot begin.

May has steered her Government through the difficult months of September and October; through the Florence speech and then through the Party conference season, and is still in power. Or still PM, as the Government now whips its own MPs into not voting on any motion in the Commons that it stands a chance of losing, but at the same time will not engage when such votes are lost. Her government is only kept in power by the "supply and confidence" deal with the DUP, brokered by the £1 billion payment made to Northern Ireland. And a payment that might not actually be legal, and a hearing is taking place in the next few weeks on that legality.

The DUP themselves are as mixed up as the Tories, in wanting both no border with the Republic and also wanting to leave all of the EU institutions. Meaning not having a border and having one. This is issue is still to be addressed and solved, which would make talks on trade possible.

Saying all of that, having May as PM is probably the best the Conservative Party can do, as waiting in the wings are a number of candidates, Johnson, Rees-Mogg, etc, who would happily sell out their own country's future economic stability for some short term personal political ambition. As most of these are Eton educated and ex Oxbridge monied folks, whether the economy tanks is neither here nor there to them, as their families will have money stashed away around the world. They will always be rich, it is those who are just about managing now that will suffer the most. Bank rates will rise next month, as the pound slumps further and inflation rises to over 3%, it has to. But with wage stagnation, people's incomes will be squeezed. May is introducing a cap on energy prices, a policy derided at the last but one election for being socialist, but with all energy priced in US$, the exchange rate means that all energy is getting more expensive to buy. The cap will only be temporary.

It is not too hard to look down the line 18 months hence with mortgage rates climbing, grocery prices rising too, cost of energy climbing, and massive job losses beginning to kick in, and there being no deal with the EU in place, a real depression setting in, with no chance of an improvement for a decade or more. It has been estimated that the cost of a no deal Brexit would cost the British economy £400 billion by 2030.

Think of that huge number, and what that would mean spread out between every man, woman and child. Or only those of working age.

Thursday, 19 October 2017

Wednesday 18th October 2017

I could lie in until, well, whenever I wanted. The alarm clock in the bedroom has batteries that are nearly flat, so once it is light, I try to see what the time is, then try to guess by how much the clock has lost in the 8 hours since I had but it right. The clock said just gone six, meaning it could be any time from then to eight, or even later. But before seven it would be light, or getting light. So, I have no idea.

So I get up and find it is twenty to eight, time for coffee and put the radio on. Some lively banter is called for.

There is the rest of the kitchen to clean up, MUm who no longer cooks to any degree, and certainly does not bake anymore, has five pots of spooks, stirrers, corers and other stuff I have no idea what they are for. Mixed in are some tools that are either good quality plastic of carbon fibre, so keep those and all the rest is put in the bin. Or would have if there was any room, as it is still full of cuddly toys.

Anyway, I am not done yet, I clear the cupboard where the hot water boiler is, but it is covered in pots and pans and old over dishes. They are all gone out too, leaving the best few to use, if needed.

I go to the tip, taking another hour once there, but the traffic through town means it takes two. I kid you not, and next week one of the lanes to Oulton Broad bridge is to be closed southbound for three weeks, it will be a standstill.

It is lunchtime, so I go to Tesco for a roll, some crisps and a twin pack of egg custards. I would not starve.

I then consult the list of people to call, and inform all those I had not yet called of Mum's condition, and a barely concealed plea for them to visit her.

I had told her neighbours they could go, so had decided not to visit her in the afternoon, only to find later that she had no visitors at all until I turned up at half six, after I had spent an afternoon in her garden, deadheading and the usual stuff that needs doing.

I am now convinced that the house is ready for her return, not that she will be too happy with what I have done, but hey.

I leave at six, going to Tesco to pick up a pot of soup for dinner, before driving to the hospital, finding a space and being walking to the ward door at dead on half six. Behind me, people who had been waiting for ages just follow in my wake.

Two hundred and ninety one Mum is the same, she feels drained, but the nurses assure me there is yet more progress. I tell her I am off home in the morning and she should be deluged with visitors with the amount of calls I have made.

I bid her farewell, and she is honest in saying the past four weeks have been hard and more painful than she had ever imagined it would be. So, I had to say that she must remember that when she is tempted to smoke. And with that I am gone, and she will now being looked after by the nurses and other health professionals who will decide when she is to be released and what she needs at home, equipment and carers. Not much else I can do, nor her friends, really.

I am home just gone eight, so I warm up the soup, cut some fresh bread and butter it. I am shattered again.

More footy on the radio again, so I sit in the armchair and listen.

Tuesday 17th October 2017

I suppose, before we go on with the great Mum chase, as it will be forever known, here are some updates:

1. Tony/Dad/Jen and the family: As I said on Sunday, Jen has come to terms with Tony's death. I mean, you can't ignore it, and no amount of tears and swear words will bring him back. Doesn't mean she don't miss him, we all do, but there is a stack of things to do. Starting with clearing out what of his possessions she does not want to keep. Of course there are reminders of him all over the house, from packs of rolling tobacco, his glasses, his medicines, photographs and on and on and on. Cath has been helping, and Jools goes round each evening. Jools is still working, she says it is best to work through it. She is pragmatic about it, so, has told people at work so they know things may not seem to be as normal.

Jen is waiting to hear from the coroner as to the cause of death and then for the body to be released and only then can the funeral be arranged and the certificate be issued and finally the death be registered. She has her best friend from Bolton coming down on Friday, so Jen is going to meet her off the train in London. A day out for her and John, who lost his wife last year. It has been that kind of year, really.

2. Mum is much better. For a while she was disconnected from all machines, but as you will see from below, she now has a new box of electronic tricks to help with her healing process by gathering the fluid that should not be in her body. I mean it is easy to forget that she had such a major operation, and recovery is so fragile. But the doctors and nurses will not commit to a timeframe of how long she is going to be in hospital. How long is a piece of string was the only straight answer I got. All depends on how well she heals, the work needed to be done at her home and whether she does the exercises she is told she needs to. And then in the long term is her life choices, she changes. Or doesn't. If she doesn't she loses her son, some of her friends and will not be able to have any more medical care like she has just had.

3. And finally, allergies. Despite having couple of close shaves with sneezing fits and stuff, but as I am two months into my allergy season and not to have suffered a poor nights sleep, so poor it needs me to take a day off. There is no real reason for this, I can't say I have been more careful with shower gel and deodorant that in previous years, but I have been largely free of anything resembling an allergy attack. And long may that continue of course. And on top of that, my egg intolerance is over too. Might be connected one might think, only the allergy attacks have been going on for at least six years, and the intolerance only began two years ago. But all in all, pretty positive stuff.

And so onto the great Mum chase.

I knew, and said to Mum that this is what would happen, that she would get 5 minutes notice that the ambulance would be waiting and she would be away back to James Paget. And as I never got an answer from the early morning shit at Papworth, I had given up on calling until the afternoon shift began after midday, which meant that if I did that, I would not get to the hospital until three or so. Monday, I did not call the hospital at all, just set off for the hospital in the hope that she would still be there. If not she would be well enough to be moved. So good news either way, really.

I go for another walk to Fisher Row and along Oulton Dyke. It was another glorious morning, all clear blue skies and the promise of many fallen leaves after the wind the night before. So I park at the church and make my way down the lane to the edge of the marshes, checking my time to ensure I arrive at the foot crossing at the same time as the train to Norwich passed by. Would it be a pair of 37s? Two hundred and ninety In a word, no. I could hear the sound of overworked DMU engines long before I saw the 156 round the bend under the bridge with carried Prospect Road over the line. Another walk to Fisher Row I walk on, seeing more dragonflies and butterflies, even on a breezy day. I meet a couple of people, pass the time of day with them, and remark how lucky we were to be out on a day like this. At the other crossing, also carefully times, I wait for the service from Norwich, and as two weeks before, I was rewarded with a single car 153 rattling along which would have been uncomfortable for any passengers on board. Another walk to Fisher Row THere is always another church or two, and Simon had recommended another handful in the Diss area that I should visit. So I set off at eleven once again, sighing as I drove out through Somerleyton to St Olaves before picking up our old friend, the 143, then plodding along behind a series of truck and tractors until I reach Diss, and then a few miles further along I turn off and drive out towards Redgrave.

Another walk to Fisher Row Redgrave church could be seen as the lane meandered through the farmland and fields. I knew we would get there, at some point. The church stood on a slight rise, about ten feet above the level of the lane which lazily passed by. Inside the churchyard were two cars which partly spoiled the view of the church, but once inside I saw that there was a stage either being built or taken down, and there were two chaps doing the work. After a bad experience in deepest Suffolk a couple of years back under similar circumstances, but this was to be different. The two chaps were wardens, or guardians under the ownership of the CCT, and one of them was very keen to point out to me the points of interest of the church. Turns out we have a mutual friend, John Vigar, so we swapped news, then when I said I live in Kent, the other gentleman was from Shepherdswell, and so we discussed the church there and at Waldershare.

Another walk to Fisher Row But time was pressing, and I was off to see another nearby church which I was told was good if you liked the unusual. Burgate was again at the edge of the village, and I saw it about half a mile off. Outside had been largely rendered, so making any blocked doors of arches hard to see. And inside it had the most glorious roof, the same width even into the chancel, with what looked like carved medallions where the rood would once have been. There was a war memorial with candle holders made out of old shell casing, and various nooks and crannies around the walls, with figures making it seem higher than it probably was.

As ever, time had beaten me, so I left after signing the visitor's book and got back on the 143 and carried on towards Bury. I stopped at Tesco for some lunch and to get change for the parking at the hospital. That there is such a thing is effectively a tax on the sick and their families. Two pounds fifty gets you a couple of hours no matter how little your actual stay is, which was to become an issue this day. As again there were parking spaces, driving round and round until there was a tricky space in which I could squeeze the Corsa into. I get the ticket, put it in the car and walk to the private building, up the stairs and along the corridor to room 10.

It was empty, the bed bare of bedding and the floor washed. Either Mum had transferred or had taken a turn for the very worse. I go to the nurse station, and they check their notes, yes she left at half two, some half an hour ago, meaning I had passed her on the Cambridge by-pass I suppose. There was nothing to stay for, so I say thanks and go back to the car for the drive home.

Much the same as before, I make good time to get past Cambridge, then to Newmarket and to Bury. From then on it is always a lottery as to whether you could drive like the wind for an hour or get stuck behind tractors and truck thus more than doubling the journey time. The night before was better, as half of it was undertaken as it was getting dark, and farmers would be at their tables having ham and eggs or something. Tuesday was not a day like that, lots of tractors about in the late afternoon light, going hither and thither. The trip took two and a half hour in all, getting back just before six.

I have time to have a coffee and clear up the last of the custard creams before driving over to Gorleston to see Mum and give her the dressing gowns I had washed the night before. I find her on ward 2, connected to a box that would speed up her recovery, but she was disoriented, and unsteady on her feet. She is down, really quite down indeed. Although she is well on the road to recovery. I think it is having a box plumbed back in, after thinking she was past all of that. But for me it has been a long day, six hours driving, then to Gorleston, and I have yet to eat, so I promise a long stay in tomorrow, saying I will tell her friends that she is close to home and they can visit her, and I will come in the evening, as I had a day of yet more cleaning planned, the final parts before I can bid the old family home goodbye.

I call into Fir Lane chippy for Skate and Chips, and freshly cooked they were too, so when I got home and had made a brew, the battler on the skate was still crispy. And so much of it. So many chips. I tried but could not eat them all. I was beaten.

For the rest of the evening I sat in the armchair, all puffed out listening to the football on the radio. More European games. So ended yet another day, but I had come to the conclusion that one more day and I would go back to Chez Jelltex.

Monday 16th October 2017

Monday morning, and here I am in the faintly nicotine tinged bedding at Mum’s. I have tried to make it better, but there is only so much a young fella can do.

I get up, have a coffee, then breakfast and ponder the day. I know from past experience, there is no point in calling the hospital before I leave, therefore as a friend I know on the way was back from his travels, I thought I would call in on him on the way, as Mendlesham is a short diversion.

There was one more church beside the 143 I was aware of, as there was a brown sign pointing to an “historic” church. Aren’t they all in EA? It is under the care of the CCT which usually means it would be unlocked, but after parking, I go to try the door, and it is locked. On the notice board there was details of a key holder, so as I tried to orientate the map with the road, the door opened.

I thought you were a ghost said the lady the other side of the door.

She lets me in and I begin to snap away. Do you know anything of the history of the church she asks. I say I don’t, but point out some of the features that allows me to see how the chuch has changed; there is a clear and good set of Rood Stairs, and clearly there was a side chapel, but no sign of a squint that would probably have been there. I talk about the glass, and say which I think was old, most of it was Victorian, and pretty poor if truth be told.

I advised them to go to Whenaston and then to Blythburgh to see more wonders. They were taking notes, so maybe they did go there afterwards.

Time was getting on, so I go to see Rob, and we have a great chat and they ply me with tea, which was very nice. It is good to have talks with people, rather than me arguing with my inner monologue.

I leave theirs at half twelve, and press on to Bury, stopping of at Tesco for lunch of sandwiches, crisps, a Twix and a bottle of Coke; all four food groups. And I then eat as I drive up the A14, probably breaking a couple of laws at the time too.

I arrive at Papworth to find all of East Anglia was visiting too, meaning there were no free parking spaces. I mean no free spaces at all. A train of cars goes round and round for half an hour until each one of us find a space. I get a small one next to a building that just about manage to get the car into.

Up to see Mum on the ward, and as usual, not much to say, and she has no news of a transfer.

When I get back into the car, RadMac are talking about a red sky seen in Manchester, and in time the clouds roll over, and the sun which was bright and yellow earlier was now red and angry. A hurricane, a real hurricane not one two weeks past its sell by date, but a genuine hurricane was tracking up the west coast of Ireland, and it was dragging air from North Africa, meaning the air was full of sand particles, causing the light to be shifted down the spectrum; hence, red sun, pink and yellow clouds.

Two hundred and eighty nine Once on the 143 I stop to take a snap at the odd light, but the sun was long since gone. And the low and sand laden clouds brought dusk 90 minutes early, although many drivers apparently failed to notice and were driving without any lights, and so barely able to be seen.

I get home at half six; long since dark and just glad to be home safe and sound. If not home, then at Mum’s. I had stopped at the butcher on Gorleston Road to buy a huge lamb steak, so fry that and cook mashed potatoes and make both disappear along with the last of the 2007 vintage wine in the living room.

Oh well.

Football on the radio, and me writing blogs at the same time. Usual evening for here.

Some Brexit realities

In order to debunk some claims and statements that have been made on potential delays and/or cancelling of the Article 50 process. Those who read these words regularly will already know this, but needs restating from time to time.

1. As said many times, the final part of Brexit Britain had control over was if and when the notification under Article 50 was made.

2. From then on, all other steps in “Brexit”, was under the control of the EU27

3. Although there has been suggestion that the word “intention” in clause 1 of A50 means that under Britain’s constitution, we could reverse the process.

4. Clause 3 makes it clear that by the unanimous agreement of the EU27 or the UCJ, the A50 process will end either with or without a deal after exactly 2 years.

5. There is nothing May, the Cabinet, Government of Parliament can do to change this. We can ask the EU27 or the UCJ to either pause of reverse the notification, but agreement is not given, and such agreement would only depend on it being in the EU27’s interests. Appeal to the UCJ is possible, but A50 is part of the highest level of EU law, and is unlikely to be reversed.

6. Even if Parliament has a vote on the final deal or no deal, and it is rejected, this would make no difference, as pausing or revoking A50 would still require agreement of the EU27.

7. There is no chance that anyone in Parliament, the Commons or Lords could “sabotage” Brexit, it will happen unless the EU27 r the UCJ says otherwise.

8. Talks on trade can only begn when the EU27 agree that “sufficient progress” has been made on the three key issues: the Irish border, financial settlement and EU/UK citizen’s rights. It is likely that progress on two of the three would not be enough, especially if the Irish Border is not agreed.

9. It is Britain that decided to leave the EU, so it should have identified issues and have solutions to these. May and the Brexiteers were told of the issues, but ignored

10. And the A50 notification sent before any issues were identified and what the ultimate goal of the talks were to be.

11. The EU27 has managed the task of being united from the first policy document in April to date. Ultimately, they have concluded that the preservation of the Single Market by protecting the four freedoms more important that trade with the UK.

12. Britain has failed to address most of the policy papers that the EU has published, instead publishing its own weeks later, that already the EU27 have rejected in their earlier paper.

13. Any deal that might be agreed has to be ratified by all EU27 and probably up to a dozen regional Parliaments, as well as the EU itself and the ECJ.

14. Any deal that is agreed has to be in compliance with EU law, hence ratification from the UCJ

15. It would not matter who was Prime Minister, May, Johnson, Leadsome, Gove, Corbyn, the above conditions and issues would still be there.

16. There is no deal that would be “better” than being part of the largest Free Trade Area in the world. There are only degrees of damage that other deals or a no deal would do to the economy, wages, jobs and inflation. 17. Brexiteers will try to blame the failure of Brexit on anything other than either themselves or Brexit itself. The EU, judges, the press, other MPs, Remoaners, “foreigners. And so on. Failure of Brexit, and its potential success depends on replacement of those who do not believe with “evangelical Brexiteers”. Say no more.

18. If Britain wanted to leave the EU, it could stop paying into the EU budget now and refusing to comply with UCJ judgements. However, under WTO rules, Britain would still be part of the EU until 29th March 2019 and so unable to even talk about the possibility of a trade deal with any other country.

19. All the above also applies to any Transition Agreement too. EU27 would all have to agree, it be in the EU’s interest and clear as to what the transition was towards. Also sufficient progress on the 3 basic issues would be needed too.

20. Britain understood the A50 process and the time limit, yet entered into it anyway, knowing that with each week that passed, it ramped up the pressure on Britain not the EU.

21. Any deal will be what the EU27 decides to offer Britain. The choice will be whether to accept this or not. A genuine Hobson’s choice.

22. Finally, there is no escaping reality. What will happen, will happen. Regardless how many times it is said that “Brexit means Brexit”, and that either German car makers of Italian Prosecco producers would push for a deal.