Three great myths of the sulking Remainers

I think my favourite moment of the referendum campaign was John Major’s intervention, a couple of weeks before polling day. In that immediately recognisable tone of condescension tinged with snippy petulance, which we all remember and love so well from the time of his magnificent stewardship of this country, he said that people who didn’t want some degree of pooled sovereignty should go and live in North Korea, oh yes. No, John, that’s where you should go. I’m sure you can persuade the fat idiot who runs the place that his people need and deserve a motorway cones hotline, even if there are no cars on the roads.

It’s time for a duck shoot. Time to blow a few canards out of the sky, from where they have been flapping around our heads these last few days, quacking in a demented manner. Of course, it was to be expected that if Leave won the referendum, the Remainers would whine piteously and refuse to accept that the result was democratic and binding. That is how many of them are. People entirely unused to being gainsaid, unused to not getting their way. So they shriek and scream and stamp their little feet and there are tears before bedtime, and after bedtime on the social media websites. Effusions of disbelief, sorrow and sadness — and a real, visceral loathing of those who had a different opinion to them.

‘Hate won!’ a hilariously silly cow, sobbing her eyes out, said on a video now doing the rounds among the jubilant Brexiteers. Well, maybe it did, my little poppet. But it also lost. There seems to me rather more hatred among the Remainers, or ‘remnant ponces’ as Julie Burchill called them, than there ever was among those who wished to get the hell out.