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You can't 'regrexit' if you were in a coma at the time, grandma reveals

| On
13.7.16

At the time of writing, it has been 18 days, 14 hours, 30 minutes since we, Great Britannia, voted to leave the European Union. Now, you might be thinking that phrasing is awfully time specific, but you must understand that it is coincidentally the amount of time my dear grandmother has spent unconscious in a coma. Awash with relief that Nana is with us once more - she's scared us many a time with falls and bumps, and this time it hadn't looked hopeful - we chatted like we never have before, which was probably a mistake. I now realise remorse does not work like empathy and can only be felt had the individual actaully been involved with an act in which they could come to regret. A coma, it would seem, is a loophole in which Sun readers can easily resume being spoonfed opinions without even so much as a burp or hiccup.

The morning after Nana had decided to nap out her severe head trauma, Brexiters awoke to the birds singing Richard Strauss' Also sprach Zarathustra, Op. 30 and the political landscape that came to follow could only be said to resemble the scene from 2001: A Space Odyssey in which that tune is so famously associated. Like Paleolithic man utilising tools in self-declaration that he will no longer stand as a victim of the world, an overwhelming majority of 51.9% of Britons exercised their democratic right and asserted themselves as an active force, determined to take control. And yet we just look like apes smashing things up.

Last my Nana and I spoke of the EU referendum, she was undecided and of the political disposition whereby any uninformed opinions held would be immediately amended upon receiving counter information that had the likes of facts, reasonably concluded estimates and, above all, people who knew what they were talking about proposing it. Well, that's what I assumed. We never spoke about politics - previous years, it was all hot chocolates and The Tennis. Presumably, while comatose, a very chatty Rupert Murdoch had been her nurse, because as soon as she could speak again, she was voicing a claustrophobic unease toward imaginary Turkish figures in the room. Something in the air, I think - she was emboldened. Soon she was ignoring doctors and insisting on going home, claiming "the people have had enough of experts".

Despite this almost telepathic validation, Nana had no idea of the events that had unfolded during the three weeks of her coma, and naturally, it was my obligation to fill her in. Naive as she was, I had to explain why David Cameron's resignation was not the gift it may at first seem. How Labour had collapsed in on themselves like a dying star. "Core bin?" She asks, "I must get round to doing the recycling, yes." The surge in racist and xenophobic hate crimes. Her favourites, Boris ("sweet lad") Johnson and Nigel Farage, I described as children who had expressed a keen interest in a hobby only to later tell their parents, who supported them wholeheartedly and booked a lifetime's worth of lessons, that they can't be bothered to go anymore. What was "scare mongering" before is now just reporting. Andrea Leadsom, a character straight out of a David Lynch production, appears and disappears as quickly as you can say "a very real stake". David Cameron is responsible for leaving yet another family without a home, but hums a merry tune as he knows very well him and Samantha won't be taking the children to the foodbank. Meanwhile, Theresa (not the one from bingo) May is sat back watching London burn on a scale not seen since 1666. This campaign technique proves successful and she is set to become our prime minister. With a capital M, Nana - I don't even want to begin to speculate on what she may or may not do.

"Well, I never!" She voices. A would-be leave voter, I press no further. I daren't even suggest the second referendum petition. What's done is done, we agree, and mindmap ideas on how to better the future of our nation's heart and soul. This polarising won't help anything! We put on some world music and stay up through the night, sketching blueprints and chatting, challenging each other's prejudices - a real edifying process. You see, I do not have to agree with you to respect your opinions or love you as a person.

Come 5am, however, I glance over at what Nana has been working on, only to spot phrases like "send them back", "great again" and "health and safety gone mad".

Nana, I said, I wish you'd died in that coma.