Florence and the Machine: Maybot turns to Brussels to supply creativity | John Crace

It was the Renaissance, Jim, but not as we know it. Shortly after David Davis, Philip Hammond and Boris Johnson had sat down in their front row seats in the dingy annexe of Santa Maria Novella in Florence, the Machine took the stage. She glanced at the words ‘Shared History, Shared Challenges, Shared Future’ projected on to the white sheet that covered up the wall behind her. Hmm, she thought. She’d see about that. She wasn’t in the mood for sharing anything with anyone. Not least her vision for Brexit.

“It’s good to be here in Florence,” Theresa May began. She didn’t know quite why she’d come to Florence, though she’d heard it was nice at this time of year. She could only assume that all the meeting rooms in London must have been fully booked. “The eyes of the world are upon us,” she continued. Except they weren’t. Almost everybody else in the room was from the British media. It was possible that Michel Barnier was watching it on TV somewhere, but for everyone else it was a non event. Presumably because they had been tipped off about the contents of the speech in advance. Or rather the lack of them.

The Machine looked pleasantly surprised. She was used to losing her audiences inside 10 minutes; now she had surpassed herself with the first heads going down after just five. Exactly the reaction she had been hoping for. It took a lot of practice to talk for so long and say nothing that people didn’t already know. She pressed on, unwittingly making a compelling case for Britain remaining in the EU as she explained why we were so keen to leave. Irony has never been her strong point.

“These are exciting times, vibrant times,” the Machine gurned. In her delivery, they sounded anything but. “But we need to be creative.” Brilliant. The newest incarnation of the Maybot – Maybot 5.0 at the last count – was as an intern for W1A’s Perfect Curve. We would be going forward together, yah, to find innovative solutions to the exciting opportunities that lay ahead. So we needed to form some key strategic relationships that would forge new deep and special partnerships going forward.

After another 10 minutes of management away-day filler, the Machine eventually got to some substance. Probably by mistake. First, Ireland. Ireland was very tricky, wasn’t it? she muttered to herself in a stream of unconsciousness. She’d given it a lot of thought and she just couldn’t come up with any way of maintaining a soft border while staying out of the customs union. Sorry and all that. Maybe someone in the EU could have a think about it? It was beginning to look as if all the creativity she had asked for would have to come from Brussels.

It had also just come to the Machine’s attention that Britain would need a two-year transition period – something that had occurred to most five-year-olds when Britain had triggered article 50 – so would it be OK if we stayed in the EU for an extra two years? If so we’d be happy to pay our own way in exchange for having no real say in how the single market was run. Double brilliant. She had just negotiated worse terms than we were already on. And, come to mention it, if the negotiators could think of any way that Britain could have its cake and eat it after the transition period, that would also be a big help. Because she was right out of ideas.

Now she appeared to start thinking on her feet. Never a good idea for the Maybot. How about instead of either Britain or the European court of justice deciding on the legal status of EU citizens, we got a third party court to arbitrate instead. We would be taking back control by handing over control to someone else. She was happy to recommend either the Strictly Come Dancing judges or North Korea. She didn’t mind which.

“Our spirit is indomitable,” she concluded unconvincingly. Everyone in the room appeared crushed. By the tedium more than anything. She hadn’t said anything that people hadn’t already worked out for themselves and could have been delivered in a five-minute briefing back in the UK. Boris rose to show his support. Never the most reassuring sight for the prime minister. But never mind. The Machine had achieved something few others could have managed: she had pissed off the Brexiteers, the remainers and the EU in the same speech. That took a certain Renaissance genius. It was just a pity it hadn’t led to the Enlightenment.