Ever vigilant, I have been preoccupied with Brexit since it was only a small wobble on the horizon, jouncing toward us like the white balloon thwarting Patrick McGoohan’s escape efforts in TV’s The Prisoner. From afar the balloon looked harmless, almost frolicsome, but as it drew nearer it swelled with ominous portent until it reached the point of impact—bam.

So too Brexit. The prospect of Britain divorcing from the European Union seemed at first like an unthinkable outcome that became anxiously thinkable and then omigod it’s actually happening. The vote to leave served as the dress rehearsal to the election of Donald Trump. Now, with the elevation of Brexiteer supremo Boris Johnson to the role of prime minister, the United Kingdom and the United States find ourselves ruled by two leaders united in windswept hair and feckless to their custard cores.