Festival of Brexit?

Festival of disaster capitalism.

Festival of Brexit?

Festival of red tape, tariffs and taxes.

Festival of Brexit?

Festival of fear. Of foreigners. Of cultures. Of skin tones.

Festival of Brexit?

A bonfire of freedoms. To trade and travel.

Festival of Brexit?

A bonfire of protections. Medicines, foods, security arrangements.

Festival of Brexit?

A celebration of the weakened Pound. The sledgehammered economy.

Festival of Brexit?

A dance for the end of viable British fishing. A jig for the closed car factories.

Festival of Brexit?

A song for the companies relocated to Europe. A knees-up for the talented staff gone. Britain's brains drained.

Festival of Brexit?

Fireworks for the lorry parks in the English Garden of Kent. For the portaloos and the permits to travel.

Festival of Brexit?

A delight in division. Between UK and Ireland. Between NI and GB. Scotland and England. Neighbours and families and friends.

Festival of Brexit?

A party better held offshore, where the only financial winners will hide the proceeds of their massive bets against the UK.

Festival of Brexit?

A vecherinka best enjoyed with a good vodka in Moscow, where the only political winners can celebrate their palpable hit on Europe. Huzzah.

Festival of Europe?

A glass raised to a country's demise. A Festival of Britain grotesquely inverted. A palace of glass, a glorious past, shattered. A Great Exhibition of Folly.

A Festival of Brexit?

What does it mark, in the end? Queen and Country exiting the world stage - the briefest of bangs heralding the longest of whimpers.