The EU delegation brought their usual toolkit: big, fat folders of bureaucratic jargon; passive aggression; and gift baskets of rules. The Brits responded in kind: tea, tight smiles, and vague allusions to “taking back control” — now rebranded as “common understanding.” Not quite as catchy.
Big wins, aka “dynamic alignment,” were claimed by both sides on youth mobility and easing food exports — concepts so gloriously noncommittal, they could have been borrowed from a Tinder bio. In short: Britain agreed to let French boats chase haddock around the Channel for the next 12 years, but only if they received in return the right to sell cheddar to Belgium again.
National sovereignty never tasted so sharp.
Nige “The Rage” Farage, in his usual reasonable and objective tone, called the deal “the end of the fishing industry.” Meanwhile, former prime minister and man allergic to hair brushes Boris Johnson simply labeled the whole thing a deliberate betrayal. The Brexit power couple knows how to keep it classy.
The summit ended in the usual flurry of statements, awkward group photos, the occasional love-bombing X posts and — in true European style — a joint press release simultaneously saying everything and absolutely nothing at the same time.
God save the agreement. Until the next summit.
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by Mark van Kranenburg