I’ll admit it straight away: I didn’t last the whole week. Sometime on Friday evening I switched the radio on (5 Live) and heard two journalists talking to each other outside Westminster. Neither of them had a clue what had just happened, or was about to happen.
Like giving up anything (Facebook, checking Twitter, alcohol), the first few hours were the worst. I needn’t have worried. I received vicarious updates from family and colleagues and felt strangely emptier and fuller of Brexit at the same time.
What I really missed were the podcasts: checking in with The Westminster Hour (Radio 4, Sunday night) first thing on Monday morning while waiting for the kettle to boil; beetling off to the other end of the house for another fix of Brexitcast.
I missed it all.
But after a day or two, this fell away. I found myself concentrating on other things, the annihilation of the planet for instance. It was quite relaxing.
Instead I listened for the millionth time to The Return of the Durutti Column and the peerless New Grass by Talk Talk. I discovered that there is lot more news that stays news in New Grass than there is in the news.
I broke my fast proper on Sunday by buying and reading an actual newspaper. (Whatever anyone tells you, there is a qualitative difference between paper and screen reading.) I am still reading it. And quoting large chunks of it to anyone who will listen.
A week on (I am writing this on Monday evening, before the House of Commons’ latest round of votes), and we are no nearer to finding out what will happen. I may watch it on the news. I may not. I do feel I have a choice. Apparently I am more fun to be around without it.