“I used to be a model you know,” Miller says every two minutes.
She seems to be enjoying the limelight and fame of being one of the foreign interests who was instrumental in attempting to block 52% of British voters who voted to leave the EU.
Posing in defiance, Ms Miller, a native of Guyana, brings out her new hat, acquired at some posh shop no doubt, or a betting shop lavatory to be more precise.
“Do you like my new hat?” she scowls, as the primping begins in earnest.
The photographer adjusts his lens, then sniffs loudly.
“S’cuse me Miss, but what’s that awful smell? It smells like a turd that has festered in satan’s butt hole for a thousand years.”
“It’s my hat, or shall I say crown. I shall wear it wherever I go from now on, and anyone who looks at me will see my beautiful crown that I wear so proudly, and think of me.”
At that moment, four dozen bluebottle flies plop themselves on Gina Miller’s crown and tuck down to some good nosh.
In the background, the spire of Big Ben looms over the scene, and as the coughing photographer clicks away, a wry smile comes over Gina Miller, she is the Queen today, the Queen of No-Brexit, and she will cherish this moment of fame for the fifteen minutes it will afford her.
Enjoy your crown Gina Miller, you will wear it for the rest of your pitiful life.
