I’ve seen some things in my life. Things that made me happy. Things that made me sad. Things I had no opinion on whatsoever, and things that were so unbelievably bleak that I’m fairly certain the image of them will haunt me till the day I die.
I’m at Venice’s Marco Polo Airport staring at a “Brunch English Sandwich”, with Union Jack emblazoned on the packaging, and am convinced this is one horror show I won’t ever be able to forget. It will follow me to my grave and beyond. If purgatory is a place, I know it’s just an empty room with no windows…no doors…and only this sandwich for company.
“There’s no joy here. No love.”
Am I overreacting? It’s just a sandwich after all. Well, yes, on its most basic and literal level this “Brunch English Sandwich” is just a sandwich. But then, this isn’t just about the sandwich is it? It’s about so much more than just a sandwich. It’s about what the sandwich represents; about what the sandwich says about Britain in 2017.
Look at this sandwich. Look at what this sandwich says about our nation. Go on. Look at it. Look at the sandwich. Look at it for a full minute, without looking away. Look at it. Look at the sandwich. Look deep into the centre of this sandwich. No. Don’t look at me. Look at the sandwich. Look at the sandwich. Look at the absolute shambles that is this sandwich.