I don’t normally watch Netflix, but recently I’ve been getting into Grey’s Anatomy. In it, there’s a scene where one of the doctors refuses to accept that a patient whom she’s grown rather attached to — and who, during open heart surgery, suffers cardiac arrest — is beyond resuscitation.
There she is, Dr. Denial, pounding at this poor guy’s corpse. Her arms dripping with blood, she shouts and sobs, refusing to give up. It’s a frightful sight. The sort that makes excellent television, but that you hope wouldn’t happen in real life.
Finally, she listens to her colleagues’ pleading and realizes what she’s doing — and, more important, how it looks. She pauses. Stands up tall, strips off her gloves, calmly announces the time of death, and swiftly exits the scene.
In British politics, the corpse currently on the table – and being repeatedly hammered in a futile life-saving bid — is Theresa May’s Brexit deal. The doctor displaying a mortifying lack of professionalism is, of course, the prime minister herself.
Having failed to inspire parliamentary support for her withdrawal agreement not once, not twice, but three times already — this week we learn that her deal will be voted on again in the House of Commons on June 3rd. The prime minister’s Brexit Secretary has said that, if the deal fails to pass this time around, it ought to be considered “dead.”
Oh.
And what is it currently: mostly dead?
