So there’s me, listening to Radio 4 as I make my award winning bread pudding from left overs in the bin de pain. I’ve bunged egg, mixed peel and muscavado onto a shedload of crumbs and raisins. I’ve sloshed in the acker bilk and grimly thumped things into spongy acquiescence with a potato masher. I’ve greased and lined a baking tray and, as my grandfather’s clock strikes six, slammed shut the oven door to the BBC pips, and news of Obama’s intervention on Brexit.
“Snot fair”, says Boris to interviewer. “America would never tolerate the level of interference he’s asking us to put up with from Brussels.”
Which, after a day of trials and tribs with Passport Office – more on that soon – and mourning for Victoria and Prince, did bring a faint smile to my lips.