My holiday hell with a gaggle of raging Remainiacs

I’m writing this on the easyJet flight back from Marrakech, where I have just spent a long weekend as a house guest of Rachel Johnson. She had managed to secure a marvellous villa by the name of Ezzahra, about a 20-minute drive from the airport, complete with a pool, spa and paddle tennis court. There were 12 of us in all, five couples and two men travelling solo — Harry Mount, the editor of the Oldie, and Mark Palmer, the travel editor of the Daily Mail. Harry, Mark and I quickly discovered we were the only Leavers in a nest of die-hard Remainers.

Now, it will not come as news to Spectator readers that the result of last year’s referendum has left some pro-Europeans feeling a teensy-weensy bit annoyed. A case in point is Rachel’s husband, Ivo Dawnay, who asks every Leaver he bumps into if they’ve ever woken up at 4 a.m. and thought: ‘Oh my God! What have I done?’ Ivo is probably the most zealous Remainer I know, but Rachel is not far behind and they had a host of reinforcements in the house party — formidable overachievers like Emma Tucker, deputy editor of the Times.

I know from experience that no good comes of discussing Brexit at social gatherings of this kind, so suggested to Rachel beforehand that she declare a moratorium on the topic. She circulated an email to all the houseguests last week, quoting me as saying I was bored with talking about it, then accidentally on purpose copied me in to one of the replies: ‘Tell him we’re not bored and are DYING to hear his justification for the stupidest act of self-harm EVER!’

We managed to avoid the subject for the first 24 hours, but the dam broke on the way back from visiting the Yves St Laurent museum on Saturday afternoon.