Mad Macron: a leaked vision of David Davis’s dystopian Brexit world

It's the year 3067 and Brexit has finally happened. David Davis was right, it’s not like Mad Max. But there is a looming spectre: Mad Macron.

The tyrannical Immortan BoJo enslaves the metropolitan elite inside the desolate remains of their temple — a Côte brasserie in Islington. The wine cellars are empty and the days of skinny cortados for all are a distant memory. There is Nigel Farage but there is no fromage. But at least there is no longer any red tape around our institutions.

“Countryman, we face a real danger,” bellows BoJo from his battle bus. The slogan “take back control” is emblazoned on its side, now faded and dripping with blood from his battles with fearsome EU bureaucrats, a stale baguette lodged in its side.

Right on cue, there’s a clatter at the door. “It’s Mad Macron,” says BoJo. His exquisitely groomed European nemesis rides in atop a Tesla chariot (it can be charged, which is convenient as this is a world that has run out of fuel).

“I need your help,” BoJo urges his pallid Brexiteer War Boys, who are undergoing a rebrand after realising their name sounded like that of a convicted sex offender. Should it be Cor Boys or does that sound like the charge of Bore Boys levelled at them by their enemies?

“But I thought we were stronger alone?” asks a Cor Boy named Nigel Farage. His friends are trying to do wheelies on broken BoJo bikes. They have a duel planned with Momentum later on — these two warring tribes are fighting over the last resources, well bucket of KFC popcorn chicken. The Cor Boys are still waiting for the new BoJo BMXs they were promised with the £350 million a week Brexit would have freed up.

From her cage in the corner, Gina Miller gazes hopefully at Mad Macron. “Could he come to save us?”

“We will ride through the Channel Tunnel Crossing into Albion, shining in chrome,” says BoJo, looking rather pleased with his rhetoric.

“Oh what a day, what a lovely day,” adds David Davis, sounding unconvincing, as the Brexiteer Cor Boys ask what BoJo is on about. They can’t hear what’s going on over the sound of an argument between Comrade Corbyn and Ed Miliband. Shouts of “When I agreed to have lunch I didn’t know that he was a cannibal” can be heard from Corbyn. “I didn’t tell him about our plan to give KFC to the many not the few. I don’t think he was a spy from the old kingdom of the EU.”

“Well we can’t let them eat KFC anymore,” says Miliband, putting down the headphones he was wearing while recording his podcast, Reasons to be Fearful. “We’ve run out of chickens. And you can’t have a steak Wetherspoons’s supplier has collapsed.” Larry the Cat and Palmerston are fighting over the last scrap of food left in the country.

“Je m’appelle Macron,” says the Frenchman. “My world is fire without fury. Once I was a banker and then a civil servant, searching for a righteous cause. Each of us in our own way is broken.”

“You what?” says a young Cor Boy, who wasn’t given the option to study French at school and decided not to go to university because of confusion over high fees. “Should we attack him?”

Macron continues: “I exist in a wasteland. A man reduced to a single instinct: survival.” He tries to rev up the Tesla, even though electric cars sound less impressive, and challenges BoJo to a race.

“Take back control!” interrupts BoJo. “Wait, does he want us to kill ourselves?” asks a Cor Boy.

An elder statesman pipes up: “Remember me?” No one does but it might be Nick Clegg, former cheerleader of the EU. Or perhaps Tony Blair.

Corbyn wonders whose side to take. He looks around for John McDonnell to give him direction.

Mad Macron is running rings around BoJo’s bus, his wife Brigitte cheering him on with quotes from their favourite French pop songs.

BoJo has failed to realise there is a race on. He’s searching for the right inspirational quote; is something Latin too pro-EU? He settles on an old favourite, “Yes, my friends, we are safer, stronger, better together… oh I mean better off alone.” There’s an explosion. Mad Macron has taken back control.