Where’s that noise coming from? Samantha Cameron burrowed her head back into the pillow. But the sound was still there. She opened her eyes. It came from the bathroom. But that was impossible. She had been living alone ever since her husband’s sudden death. Samantha got up. Did she really forget to turn off the faucet?
Politischer Korrespondent für die Europäische Union, die Nato und die Benelux-Länder mit Sitz in Brüssel.
No. There was in fact somebody in the shower. The glass of the stall was all foggy, but she could make out a familiar silhouette. Samantha opened the shower door. “Good Morning,“ David said and smiled. She stared at him. Then she quickly shut the door and turned back towards the bedroom.
He emerged behind her. “What’s the matter, Sam? You look like you saw a ghost or something.“ — “I had a nightmare, a terrible nightmare”, she said. “I dreamt you were dead and we crashed out of the European Union.”
And what a dream it was! Ahead of the general election David had promised a referendum on whether the UK wanted to leave the EU. He wanted to quiet once and for all those pesty Tories. He never thought he’d have to keep his promise. He’d be in a coalition with the Lib Dems anyway. Europe freaks. But lo and behold he got a proper majority. Completely unexpected. And from then on all the idiots could talk about was: when are we going to vote on Brexit?
“Darling, what a peculiar kind of a dream you dreamt there”, David said as he tied the towel around his waist. He was smiling to himself. Sure, his wife knew more about fashion than about politics. What a bonkers thought: giving the Brits a vote on Europe! He might as well step down right away. Now he wanted to know what happened next.
Sam continued: the referendum was on a beautiful summer’s day. And of course Leave was ahead. By a million votes. David had made the case for Europe. Now he was looking sheepish. They had made no preparations. The morning after the vote he announced his resignation. And a few days later his party voted for Theresa as his successor.
“Theresa,” interrupted David. “Do you mean Theresa May?” Sam gave a silent nod. David laughed. He was always making fun of his Home Secretary. Her ludicrous tiger heels. The humongous necklaces. “You’re going to break your neck,” he’d barked at her only yesterday. She didn’t think that was funny at all.
Well, this dream was just too good. He’d have to tell his friend Rupert about this, Rupert Murdoch, next time they had a whiskey in Downing Street. Rupert, not even the “Sun” could come up with a story like that!
Sam went on. Theresa didn’t have a plan. For months on end all she kept saying was: “Brexit means Brexit.” Boris Johnson was a nuisance the whole time. Theresa had made him Foreign Secretary in her cabinet. “What?” David blurted out. “The Mayor of London?” Indeed.
Boris said: Let’s just leave. Let’s get out of the EU. The Eurocrats will be on their knees begging us for a free trade agreement. Theresa wasn’t so sure. But she didn’t want to look weak either. Let’s face it, she’d voted to stay in the EU out of a sense of duty. So she became the bellwether of the Brexiteers. She ruled out every single option: remaining in the common market, a customs union, an association agreement. Instead, she raved about “Global Britain”. She had the Tories eating out of the palm of her hand.