James O'Brien.

Three minutes after ten is the time, and then there were two.

I think no deal's dead now, isn't it, completely?

Which leaves either deal or no Brexit.

What deal? God knows.

Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.

Here's a weird thing, though.

Have a little think about what Theresa May did yesterday.

Bearing in mind that her recent record

suggests that her promises aren't worth

the paper that they're written on.

If she were to keep this one and somehow

get the withdrawal agreement through Parliament

and then resign, do you know

what that would involve? That would involve

a tribute act of David Cameron, making

an almighty mess of everything, putting party unity ahead of national interest, and then waltzing off into the sunset, leaving other people to clear up her mess.

Which would, again, as with Cameron, be followed by a bunch of blowhard Brexiters, bloviating and blundering around the place, exercising and demonstrating

their epic ignorance, before we return to chaos again. And that's it. That's British politics.

I don't quite understand how it's happened, although I possibly have a slightly better insight

into it than people who have been lucky enough not to have to spend the last three years scrutinizing every twist in turn. But that is where we are now. I mean, the indicative votes notwithstanding, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. There's no Brexit.

The indicative votes notwithstanding, I find it very difficult to push forward, don't you?

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