Travelling back from a funeral with three other oldies, I was shocked by their unreasoned beliefs about Brexit.
Imagine politicians, needing help, feeling alone and with only one last place to turn. Finally, driven by fear, knees pressed into a thick pile carpet, knuckles clamped together and whitening after a good look into the abyss, they pray, "Give me a sign, oh Lord, the kingdom of heaven sounds good to me, I swear. I want to join. Okay, okay in spite of looking … err … if I can't see a sign, how about a clue?