Like badly written haikus, there’s a steady flow of few-syllabled Brits leaving the UK right now. These abandoneers of the modern age are disgruntled with how things are here. Oddly, many profess a strong patriotism. Most have listened to, or read, those weirdly euphoric US podcasts, and requisitioned social media sites, saying the UK has been taken over by Islamists. (Fake news.) The toys tossed from their pram are sharp and brightly coloured, often the expensive kind. With lost irony, they favour moves to authoritarian regimes close to the desert, while muttering about school fees. (The truly rich go to Switzerland and Monaco, I am reliably informed.) One of them has written an article about it in the right-wing press. Good riddance, as a playful verbalism, springs to mind. My good friend’s joke about rich Brexiteers now wanting Brexit to end so they can go live in Greece would be funny if it wasn’t so true.

‘When you ain’t got nothin’, you got nothin’ to lose,’ I want to remind some of the new Dylan fans stepping out of A Complete Unknown. Not of a commercial bent myself, which is why I like the line, fortunately much of what I like is free anyway. The flow of the River Thames. The meditative state of a grey sky. Trees when they have no leaves. The odd nod from a shy neighbour. Empathy when the local newsagent feels vulnerable.

Last week I alluded to Stateside friends going quiet since the Inauguration. I tried........

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