Ever since the very early hours of Friday 24th June I've had all these words raging in my head. All these emotions. Hate, disbelief, shock, despair, anger, hope, confusion, hysteria...It's just been a babble. A mess. I voted Remain. I thought Remain would win because...because I just did. Because the Leave campaign was full of lies. Because I couldn't believe that many people would let this man speak for us. Because I believe that, whilst the EU has its flaws, we are stronger together and that we have a responsibility as people - not as Britons but as people - to help each other. I still believe that, and yet here we are. Brexit is happening.



Since Friday, I've consumed so much news, so many opinions, seen so much outpouring of feeling on both sides, and I'm exhausted and heart-sore. There has been a sharp rise in incidents of hate crime since the result, such as Polish families in my own county receiving signs reading "No more Polish vermin" through their doors. I'm sickened that this result has opened the doors for that kind of bigotry and racism, that we've become a country that has mainstreamed it and validated it. When did this happen? That is not the world I know. Then again, I'm lucky to be relatively sheltered in Cambridge, working for the University. We thrive on international partnerships, like many universities around the country. So maybe I'm just out of touch with the rest of the country, or at least with roughly half of it.

I've never had a strong sense of national identity, because I grew up travelling all over the UK and Europe, I think, and because I grew up in a generation used to free movement around the continent. But I do love England...or at least the image I had in my head of England. I can't identify with people who scream abuse at immigrants in the street, or talk proudly of "sending them home" in our village shop. I can't feel any kinship with people who would rather destroy the country than share it. I thought we were better than that.

Nor can I identify with people who can happily ignore the economic impact of Brexit. Their shortsightedness astounds me. It's clear the Leave leaders had no plan in the event of a victory, and now they're rushing to assure us everything will be the same. But of course it can't be, and it's a fantasy to think we can have all the benefits of being in the EU whilst paying none of the fees. It terrifies me to think Boris Johnson may be the man leading us into the exit proceedings. But then, the idea of a general election terrifies me too, knowing that huge numbers of people in this country support Ukip and Nigel Farage.

So here we are. There is no plan, presumably because Leave didn't really expect to win. I imagine they thought this would just be a good way to put the wind up David Cameron, and that afterwards they could sit in their parlours, smoke their cigars, and brag about how they shook up the status quo. Well, congrats, because you really did and now you don't know what to do. And we pay the price in uncertainty and hatred.

Meanwhile, "Bregret" kicks in. I can't tell you how many petitions I've seen circulated for a second referendum. I even signed one, although in my heart of hearts I don't feel that's the solution. We could have referendums forever. The fact is, the referendum result is not legally binding, so another one doesn't particularly help. From those not feeling "Bregret," I'm told that this is democracy, get over it. As if there's a time limit on democratic debate. I'm told the people have spoken and that we're going to make this country great again. Obviously nobody actually knows how. The only people I have seen confidently and blithely assuring me that everything's going to be great - exciting, even! - are rich old men. And even they don't seem to have a clue how to make it so, beyond issuing ludicrous demands to the EU that can't possibly be fulfilled.

Ever since Friday I've been anxious, unable to focus, and full of anger that has nowhere to go. I've signed all the petitions, joined all the groups, written to my MP, and read all the news articles, and I still have no idea what I can do. I can't quietly sit back and accept that this divided, broken, bitter landscape is my future, or the future of the people I love. I can't stand the thought of my niece growing up in a society where this is acceptable. So I need to find ways to keep standing up for what I believe in, even if it's bloody futile. Because I do still believe that we as people, regardless of where we're from, can do better than that. And that we need to.



So to my Muslim boss, our doctors from Poland, Holland, Belgium, Japan, Turkey, Switzerland, India, Brazil, and all over the UK and Ireland, to the nurses from all over the world I see every day here in Addenbrooke's working to save lives, to the taxi drivers of all nationalities who ferried me and Remic all over Cambridge in May and earlier this month, to the nurses and doctors from Spain and the Middle East who helped Kyle through his surgery on Saturday...Well, I value you all. I love some of you. You're my friends and workmates and neighbours, you've improved and enriched my life and I'm sorry, so sorry, that you're experiencing this.

To the Leavers - I'm sorry if you're one of those who now regret your vote. I'm sorry you were lied to, that you believed your vote didn't count. I'm sorry our media and government have taught you that. If you're one of those who has no "Bregret," then I'm sorry you think the political, economic, and social troubles facing us now are worth it. I'm sorry you felt so unheard and disenfranchised that you now feel the only way forward is hatred and further division. I'm sorry you still believe in Good Old Britain, that you don't see or don't care how harmful those colonialist, imperialist notions are. I'm sorry that you're dragging the rest of us into a quagmire of unrest because you don't like having Polish neighbours. I wish you were better than that, like I assumed you were.

And I'm sorry, but no, I won't shut up and get over it.

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When we last left our fearless hero, Sir Remic of Littlebrain, he'd returned from the vet's after surgery to have his Bulge removed, and was on strict instructions to behave and not tear open his stitches. That was about a month ago. He's spent that time living on a bed of newspaper with a cereal box for a hide, having antibiotic injections, and being watched like a hawk to see if he poops normally. I never thought I'd be so invested in snake poop, but here we are. The Bulge was attached to his gut area, so the vet had to cut into that slightly to remove it, then stitch him all back together, so there was a chance of Rem not functioning properly as a result. I'm pleased to announce that he is pooping just fine, and let us never discuss his poop again.

So! Today was the big day. I packed Rem up in his duvet once again, and we went back to the vet to have the stitches checked and removed. He actually wasn't that keen on coming.






So here's my tip for handling a snake that doesn't want to be handled: put the cereal box over his head so he can't see you, then handle the snake as you wish. It works without fail. And of course, once he was safely tied up in the duvet, he had no choice in the matter anyway.

The vet was delighted to see "Sweetie Pie" again, and very pleased with how the surgery incision looks, so he whisked Remic off to remove the stitches. He was back five minutes later to announce that Rem was stitch-free and "getting a bit annoyed." Still! He gave me permission to put all Rem's normal ornaments and bedding back in his vivarium, and all we have to do now is check that the wound doesn't re-open in the next few days. He'll have a sexy, mysterious scar which he could use to impress lady snakes with, if he knew any. The only thing we really need to keep an eye out for now is the last few bits of dead skin around the scar from his last shed. Apparently surgery often triggers skin-shedding in snakes, but because Rem had nothing to rub against and help get the skin off, there are a few bits still clinging to him. Hopefully those will naturally fall away now he has bark to rub against. If not, we need to give him a bath and gently remove them ourselves.

We returned home triumphantly. Remic did make a break for freedom in the taxi on the way back, but the nice thing about having a snake in a duvet is you can just shake him away from the opening whenever he tries to sneak out.


I will say that I'm definitely going to buy a proper reptile carrier sometime in the future. I sincerely hope we won't need to take Rem or Ket anywhere any time soon, but it never hurts to be prepared. And now Remic is back in his usual environs, having a good old nose around his hide and branches, and seems very content with life. Huzzahs!



And sitting in his water bowl, because he's not clever. So, for now, his epic adventure is at an end. I say "for now," because there is always a chance the Bulge will return. Basically, either it was benign or malignant. If it was malignant and the vet managed to fully remove it, we should be fine. If any tendrils got missed, it could come back. And even a returning benign tumour can be dangerous if it presses on vital organs. It's difficult to really know much about cancer in snakes, because most diagnoses come post-autopsy, sadly.

So we just don't know. Going forward, all we can do is check him carefully for any lumps and bumps and keep our fingers crossed. I'm hopeful, because that's just how I am. I would tell you to stay tuned for the Further Adventures of Remic, but with a little luck, there won't be any!

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