So it begins...

by liberal japonicus

Well, that was quick.. An open thread for that.

Comments

[Nigel]

The British PM, demonstrating that Trump isn't the only one living in an alternate reality...

An interesting one.
Actually, the deal she has come back with is a quite good one (if one accepts that Brexit is inevitable). ie it’s crap, but far less crap than the alternatives... and better than I expected.

The alternate reality she is living in is believing that the headbangers on the Tory benches will allow her to get it through the House of Commons.

[Pro Bono]

The deal on offer may be the best possible Brexit, but it's strictly inferior to staying in the EU.

What the headbangers want is a Brexit which, under some set of priorities is better than being in the EU. Logically they're right.

[Michael Cain]

Logically they're right.

"In theory, theory and practice are the same. In practice, they're not."

[Nigel]

The deal on offer may be the best possible Brexit, but it's strictly inferior to staying in the EU.

No kidding.

What the headbangers want is the sheerest fantasy. Logic does not come into it.

[bobbyp]

Logic does not come into it.

No shit, Sherlock!

[Countme-a-Demon]

https://digbysblog.blogspot.com/2018/11/surprise-mitch-mcconnell-is-lying.html

[Snarki, child of Loki]

Best outcome for the UK is to forceably relocate the "Leavers" to Rockall, where they won't have to deal with immigrants, EU rules, or any of that stuff.

Start with the UKIP leadership.

[Girl from the North Country]

Excellent idea, Snarki. And for anybody who has ever heard the Shipping Forecast on BBC radio (and for anybody who hasn't, it is hypnotically worth listening to), the closing lines of the following poem by the Poet Laureate, Carol Ann Duffy (written before the powers that be regrettably changed sea area Finisterre to Fitzroy) will resonate powerfully:

Prayer

Some days, although we cannot pray, a prayer
utters itself. So, a woman will lift
her head from the sieve of her hands and stare
at the minims sung by a tree, a sudden gift.

Some nights, although we are faithless, the truth
enters our hearts, that small familiar pain;
then a man will stand stock-still, hearing his youth
in the distant Latin chanting of a train.

Pray for us now. Grade 1 piano scales
console the lodger looking out across
a Midlands town. Then dusk, and someone calls
a child's name as though they named their loss.

Darkness outside. Inside, the radio's prayer -
Rockall. Malin. Dogger. Finisterre.