I once worked with a woman whose boyfriend had left her. After some time off sick, she returned to work heavily medicated enough for her to spend 90% of the time in a sort of monotonal zombie world of fluffiness. The other 10% was spent shrieking in tear floods of self-pity. The first week, the other girls would huddle around her like worker bees and carry her off to the ladies. The second week, they were mostly urgently engaged in doing other things when the breakdowns came.
The problem was, we never knew when the whining fits would hit. She would finish a perfectly normal phone call quite calmly then collapse on her knees howling. I had a seasoned groundworks contractor with me once when this happened, and the poor man leapt straight out of his chair.
The joy of Polly is that one knows exactly when the shrieking fits will start; every time her column is published in the Guardian. The consistency of her whining butt-hurt over Brexit makes it a joy to be savoured. And she doesn't work up to it – it's straight in
Hardly anything in Britain is untouched by the Brexit vote. With the country angrily wrenched apart, this has caused the greatest political, social and cultural rift of our life-time. But in few places is the hurt felt more deeply than inside the NHS….
And it gets whinier and whinier .
Which means we are still going in the right direction. She's a sort of Brexit monitor – as long as she whines when exposed to newsprint, we can be reassured. I'll bet she never imagined how useful she'd turn out to be.