He asks in halting, jumbled English for a take-out meal. The girl behind the counter sneers: “I don’t know what you’re on about. I can’t understand what you’re saying…”. She might as well have been addressing something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

He tries again, succeeds in getting a sandwich and coffee and, who’d blame him, gets the hell out of the village shop.

Welcome to post-Brexit Britain, where anything not wrapped in the Union Jack is suspect. Hey, the guy can’t even speakee da lingo. What the hell is he doing in our country, our village, our shop?

Welcome to post-Brexit Britain. To snide, sneering, xenophobic Little Britain, even in friendly old Scotland which, I must note, did vote to stay in the EU.

This is what we will get from the post-Brexit May government. She is hardline, but not inclined to race hate. But she has to kowtow to the Leave lobby and its immigrant-baiting lies.

So, she had to appoint politicians like blond buffoon Boris as her Foreign Secretary, a man who offended half the nations on this rock for not being Oxford Debating society material and makes bonehead jerk Jeremy Clarkson resemble one of Christ’s disciples. Come November 8th, Bojo just might be trading jibes with President Trump as a sign of bilateral dumbness.

Of course, this turn of events in Old Blighty must be seen in context. 84 dead in the streets of Nice, Turkey just about avoiding a military coup, th funeral of murdered MP Jo Cox, Europe still failing to deal with immigrants in caged camps and a pair of military giants – Russia and the States – trying to figure out who to collectively bomb in what was once one of the world’s oldest civilisations but now reduced to a bloody torture chamber by Isis and Assad.

Oh, a shred of good news: Mick Jagger is going to be a dad at 72.