Now what shall we do?

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When I was quite young, but which I mean of primary school age, I recall having one book of poems. It must have been my mother’s choice; my father thought then and to the end of his life that poetry was a complete waste of time. It was one of the many things on which we differed.

In that book there was a poem that went something like this:

I want to be the leader

I want to be the leader

Please make me the leader

Thank you, I am your leader

Now what shall we do?

I fear that the last line is an optimistic interpretation of what might be happening today. I doubt Boris Johnson has the wisdom to ask,