I'm so depressed about Brexit that I decided there was nothing to do but go hell for leather and eat a whole polenta to myself. And when I'd finished gorging upon the polenta I, lost in the abyss of post-Brexit confusion, started a gremolata consommé but was overcome by existential angst before the sous-vides were even ready. Why can't the Brexiters understand my pain? What is wrong with the general public? And what am I going to do with all the celeriac au gratin and Egon Muller-Scharzhof Scharzhofberger Riesling I bought for the victorious Remain party?
Help me, for God's sake.