Cuppy-Duppy Heebie-Jeebies

While the blithering prima donna David Davis was demonstrating to the Euro-wogs precisely who is in charge of the Brexit agenda (the Euro-wogs, for those who came in late), a somewhat more important set of negotiations was taking place on the mainland. The process of uncoupling the British Empire from its biggest market and cleansing the pernicious Brussels odour from forty years' worth of legislation is, of course, a mere bagatelle compared with the need to prop up the dead-eyed warden's zombie government long enough for her to carry the can for the recently-commenced two-year train wreck and allow a fresh mask of near-coherence and partial competence to be plastered on more or less securely once she's been given the boot. Hence the ongoing talks between the Conservative and Unionist Party and its new-found, gay-baiting, terrorist-sympathising, young-earther chums in the Democratic Unionist Party. The uppity colonials have declared themselves unimpressed with the level of focus which the Conservatives have brought to the table: presumably the attention-deficient yak-yak of the Gove-Johnson kindergarten mingled with the slack-jawed droolery of a Leadsom-Hammond coffee morning, or some similarly winning combination. Senior DUP sources are whining about being taken for granted, and complaining about the backbiting baboons on the back benches. It appears, disturbingly enough, that the horse-trading skills of the blithering prima donna David Davis are not only typical among denizens of the Conservative and Unionist Party, but actually superior.