Emily Sheffield

When asked to write the Spectator diary, I diligently collated a list of topics to cover. But the problem is I still need to talk about Brexit. Because I’m not over it yet. I don’t mean I am still raging against Leavers and calling for another referendum. Nor do I regret we held it. Instead, by the Monday I was extolling the virtues of thinking positive for obvious economic reasons. I found reassurance in the quiet hum of my office that morning after the despondency of the weekend (moments when I stood in a corner of my bedroom, unable to control the ricochets of fury; resisting the tempestuous urge to throw eggs at Steve Hilton’s door, two streets away).