In a move that has sent tremors through the liberal chattering classes and caused a spike in gin consumption among your humble correspondent, the Supreme Court has ruled that Donald Trump can indeed revoke the protected status of Haitian and Syrian immigrants. The decision, delivered with the solemnity of a hanging judge at a pie-eating contest, means that thousands who fled chaos and violence now face the prospect of being returned to the very hellholes they escaped. Over here, in the rain-sodden paradise of Brexit Britain, Home Office officials are reportedly 'monitoring the border impact' with the kind of keen interest a cat reserves for a dying canary.
One can almost hear the sharpening of pencils and the clinking of teacups as they prepare to draft memos that will do absolutely nothing to help anyone. The sheer audacity of the American ruling has left our own government in a tizzy, torn between feigning outrage and quietly envying the ability to act so decisively. Meanwhile, the Haitian and Syrian communities in the US brace for the worst, their American Dream turning into a waking nightmare.
As for me, I shall raise a glass of the cheapest airport gin to the Supreme Court and their unwavering commitment to making the world a slightly more miserable place. Cheers, you absolute bastards.
