This UK general election seems beset by a strange fatalism, a collective shrug in the face of a shrunken politics. It is as if we have all decided to hunker down and play to our national stereotype: a stiff upper lip with flashes of petulance.
Having doubts about Brexit? Oh well, better get it done, plucky Blighty will pull through even if the French do steal our bankers, our firms buzz off to Ireland and we have to harvest our own produce. Worrying about the National Health Service? Hands off, Donald Trump, you can’t have it. Oh, now you say you don’t want our NHS? Why? Not good enough for you?
Financial Times