Time to leave Europe.

Time to leave Europe or time to sign articles.

Hey ho! I think it's time to leave Europe. Here we are on the eve of Britain's first step on the road to EU departure. Before you go Britain don't forget to turn off the lights and lock up after you. There could be impostors in the building, those Remoaners or Remainers or whatever they call those stubborn know alls or dissidents these days. There are always people out there who just can't accept the status quo. They will kick up a fuss you know and with every justification.

 But seriously this is the end of the road for Britain and her relationship with our hitherto European buddies is now history, a thing of the past and completely and definitely no longer viable or open to negotiation.  Forget it Europe you've pushed us too far this time. Oh for the entente cordiale. In tatters and ruins. Goodbye Europe. You're cramping our style. You're a major impediment to progress and Britain would rather you not speak to them again. If it's all the same to you Europe you can keep the Eurovision Song Contest because quite frankly Britain has reached the point of silence and indifference. Britain is distinctly unimpressed and would rather conduct its trade on bigger stages.

Here we are though on the eve of Britain's first stages of its permanent estrangement from a Europe it seemed to grow tired of. For ages Britain has become disillusioned by those interfering officials in their Brussels ivory tower and it's time to just get out before it gets any worse. Slowly but surely Britain will turn its back on a Europe that kept telling us what to do, laying down the law, being petty and totally unreasonable. But then I couldn't possibly comment because as an entirely neutral member of the Manor House community my feeling is that Brussels is still one of Europe's loveliest cities and those waffles are just impeccable. Oh and I musn't forget the lace and the chocolates, those out of this world chocolates and the fun loving friendliness. My wife and I were there many years ago and we were very reluctant to leave it.

Now though Theresa May, our fine, upstanding Prime Minister, is about to sign article 50 which will hasten our fond farewell from the European community, the brotherhood and sisterhood of this European conference room. Here those bossy bureaucrats will spend endless hours in private rooms, scribbling away at forms that will finally exclude us from the great European debate, completely nullifying our influence and involvement at the big table of decision making.

The truth is though that for better or worse Theresa May is now entrusted with so much responsibility that it may take her sometime to recover from what looks like a make or break ordeal. It almost feels as though Britain is cutting off all links from a vast body of European neighbours who will now just pretend that Britain just doesn't exist anymore. The EU, in the eyes of Britain, is just some bloated leviathan- a huge overpowering presence that stifles and complicates everything.

When Edward Heath took us into the Common Market over 40 years ago the common opinion was that we were signing up for a basic trade agreement that would do everything to enhance our profile in the rest of Europe. We'd eat plenty of Dutch and French cheese, drink loads of French wine, gorge ourselves on Spanish paella, buy an absolute showroom of German Volkswagen cars and then finish off our lavish feast with generous helpings of Italian pasta and spaghetti. The world, on a suitably gastronomic theme, was our oyster.

But now over 40 years later the garden doesn't seem quite so rosy. In the eyes of Great Britain, Europe is just some stuffy, conservative, petty and paternalistic body of nations with nothing of any constructive value to offer apart perhaps, somewhat trivially, the Eurovision Song Contest which in itself is the funniest joke in the European book of gags.

Now, in the light of one of the most controversial and hot blooded arguments in the history of politics, Britain is still squabbling and bickering over the terms and conditions of that final parting of the ways with our European friends. And if things couldn't have been more muddled and incoherent, the Scots have joined in with their own personal contribution to one of the greatest bones of contention since Bannockburn or Culloden.

Nicola Sturgeon has made it abundantly clear that she wants another referendum on their country's continuing quest for independence. Then we are somehow expected to make head or tail of why they want another referendum or whether the whole Brexit hot potato is worthy of yet another listen. There are some of us who are beginning to whether there is anything else to talk about in the world. The news agenda has now been monopolised by the kind of incessant waffle and political prattling that becomes more and more wearisome and nonsensical by the day, week and month.

Sometimes you get the impression that somebody out there is deliberately tormenting us with the Truman Show where Jim Carey wakes up everyday to the same set of events in the same order. This is just staggeringly repetitive and at times totally demoralising. Here we are on the eve of signing a potentially life changing political document and nobody or very few of us, have the faintest idea of what we're signing or any of the long term ramifications of signing that article.

Now here we stand at a critical moment in political history where everything around us is about to undergo the most radical transformation this country has ever seen. It is hard to imagine what's going through the minds of our European allies - or maybe that statement is no longer applicable. Will those in the stuffy, conservative boadrooms of Brussels just moodily turn their backs on Britain or will there be simply a very uneasy tolerance of a nation they thought were both reliable and trustworthy?

And yet the negotiations will begin and all relations will now become very cold and frosty. In fact it is almost certain that the buttons will be pushed and the very mention of Britain will be mud. You wouldn't be surprised if the whole of Europe just blanks Britain, ignores us, sneers at us with a disdainful snarl and pretends that Britain is somehow beneath them. How dare Britain fall out with us and if they want to get personal - well two can play at that game.

 But Britain won't care because Britain can now consolidate our global alliances. Britain can look to Japan, USA, the Far East, Australia, Africa and all of those countries we may have taken for granted, countries we can now do proper business without being bogged down by France, Italy, Spain, Germany, Hungary, Romania and Poland. We can now build up the order books in those exotic parts of the world that are no longer the dream holiday destinations that always seemed naggingly elusive to us. Now though the map of the world has changed and Britain has opened the door to gritty globalisation and worldwide trading. It sounds very glamorous and wonderfully profitable so let the good times roll. Seriously it's time to roll up our sleeves and become very earnestly industrious.

So it is that the the European Union will slowly fade into the mists of the news archives, a dusty and decaying moment in time, moving further and further from our consciousness. One day we'll be allowed to discuss something else rather than Donald Trump and Brexit in the same news bulletin. Round and round the carousel we'll go and eventually the broadcasting channels and media networks will run out of the aforesaid issues and maybe we can get back to whatever it was we were doing beforehand.

Oh yes. It's here. The new pound coin has just hurtled into our consciousness like some meteorite from outer space. It has 12 sides and it's very groovy. We'll have to wait until the autumn before it becomes national currency but I can barely control my excitement. There is a new fangled hologram on the front of the coin. A hologram hey? What about that? You must remember the hologram. Back in the 1980s the late Sir Laurence Olivier was used as a hologram in the West End musical Time and we all held our breath at the sheer mind blowing novelty of it all.

Some of us can still fondly remember that wonderful old crumpled green one pound note which always occupied a very comfortable corner of our wallets and was deeply appreciated. In the late 1950s it represented wealth and affluence, easy living and good times. Now a pound is something that has been dramatically converted into a high street shop, a corporate brand name perhaps, where the ownership of a pound is looked upon with pitiful contempt. It is easy to forget just how precious a pound is to those in the world of poverty, starvation and the homeless, the underclass suffering in the shadow of the upper classes.

I couldn't help but notice today that in Finsbury Park the good old fashioned fair is about to be launched into action in readiness for the Easter holidays in a couple of weeks time. At the moment it does look a bit on the flat side. At any moment I half expected a whirling, spinning and flashing wheel to leap out at me, beckoning me towards it seductively and then pleading me to have a go on the horses. Yes folks ladies and gentlemen. children, aunties and uncles it's all the fun of the fair. I can now see the bright pink buds of cherry blossom heavy on the well wrapped trees of Finsbury Park. There is a spiritual awakening, runners galore, children on swings, a rich, healthy, red cheeked vitality bursting into life.

And guess what? That great empire of consumerism Sainsbury's in Stamford Hill is alive and well. You can now see a collision of religions at the front of the shop. In one corner I give you a veritable castle of Easter eggs with its ramparts and portcullis stuffed to breaking point with good old fashioned chocolate Easter eggs. It seemed a tragedy to so much as pick one up for fear of a supermarket fiasco. It could have had terrible economic consequences so it is to be hoped that nobody disturbs this Easter egg oasis of tranquillity.

Finally in the other corner there is the Passover or Pesach display of goodies and cholesterol heaven. As a proud Jew it fills my heart with delight to see the yearly tower of matzos, accompanied by a plethora of plava and macaroons. But now we find on ourself poised to enter April and hopefully free of those torrential showers that the song never tires of telling us about.

If we can only get to that first day of Easter without even so much as the slightest reference to Europe and Donald Trump. It may just be the day we've all been waiting for, a day free of European anxieties, constant background chattering and yet more angst and apprehension. It's enough to drive you to the point of ear splitting exasperation. I'm not sure we can take a great deal more of this and yet we seem to be gluttons for punishment. Eventually we may just succumb to helpless laughter at the sheer absurdity of it all.

Mind you I did like that moment when Donald Trump gave German leader Angel Merkel the coldest of cold shoulders. Did you see that? There was loathing, antipathy and sheer hatred between both parties and it was the kind of body language you'd expect to find in two boiling and seething boxers before a big fight. Trump made his feelings abundantly clear with a look that was colder than ice and Merkel gave Trump the hardest of glares offering a handshake but knowing full well that Trump would have willingly given her a dagger rather than a handshake. It is the best of times and the most extraordinary of times. It's at times like this when you feel as though you should be watching Coronation Street. This is much more than soap opera. It's real life.