Since that moment in the early hours of June 24 when David Dimbleby said 'The answer is: we’re out', Brexit has been compared to many things. The Reformation. The Corn Laws. Weimar’s collapse into Nazism. Prohibition. The French, Russian and American Revolutions. But I think I’ve got a better comparison: first-time parenting.
Scrolling through Twitter, reading about Brexit (as an anxious, just-about-Leave voter), I noticed my moods were rapidly cycling: from glee to gloom, from Bremorse to Brextasy, about every fifteen minutes. Indeed, there’s only been one other time in my life when I’ve been similarly prone to dramatic mood swings, and that’s when I was about to become a father for the first time.
During those long months when my partner was expecting, I would often find myself switching from panic - it's the end of my life, I’ll never see a pub again! - to total rapture - my existence will have new purpose, I will be the best dad possible! And that feeling is just like my thoughts on Brexit.
