IT'S been a busy week for internet memes what with Egg Boy, JK Rowling's revelation and the latest side-spitting antics of the Brexit pantomime cast.

As a rule of thumb, I try to keep this column as politics lite as possible. But recent events have reached such farcical levels it is impossible to ignore, best summed up by French European Affairs Minister Nathalie Loiseau who joked that she'd called her indecisive cat "Brexit".

If only Spitting Image was still around. Talk about bountiful material. There would be headless chickens, failed piss-ups in breweries and the eerie photograph of Jacob Rees-Mogg standing side-by-side with his nanny inspiring oodles of Hammer Horror-themed fun.

I could see House of Commons Speaker John Bercow as a rubber-faced puppet leafing through dusty tomes and shouting, "Odd-DEURRRR! Odd-DEURRRR!" in a cantankerous tone reminiscent of me when I'm hungover, craving a greasy takeaway and struggling to work the Just Eat app on my phone.

Cue Theresa May dancing around No. 10 like Hugh Grant in that scene from Love Actually – except with the PM performing a haunting interpretative dance to This Woman's Work by Kate Bush.

Larry the Downing Street cat would have a visit from his feline pen pal Brexit who would send everyone loopy by meowing to be let out, only to sit there unmoving when the door is thrown open.

Cut to the House of Commons canteen where a group of MPs are trying to order breakfast. Bacon rolls all round. Wait, can I add an egg? And a wee forkful of beans? Actually, scratch that. I'll have sausage with potato scone. Actually, no potato scone. Just a splash of HP sauce?

Three years later, they are still deliberating and the exasperated staff behind the counter finally pull down the shutters and throw everything in the bin.

Speaking of food. Egg Boy. As superhero names go, it's not the snappiest but Australian teenager Will Connolly won the hearts – and respect – of millions worldwide for pelting Senator Fraser Anning with an egg after the politician blamed Muslims for the terrorist attack in New Zealand.

Connolly further proved he was a good egg by vowing that the £45,000 (and counting) crowdfunded to pay his legal fees would be donated to help victims of the Christchurch mosque shootings.

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JK Rowling has news! The Harry Potter author has revealed that Hogwarts headmaster Dumbledore and dark wizard Grindelwald had a relationship with a "sexual dimension."

If she was expecting the LGBTI+ community to swoon with gratitude, then Rowling is a couple of decades too late. There have been enough closeted literary characters throughout history without, in 2019, having to put up with what amounts to retrospective tokenism.

Running down the aisle

WEDDING trainers are now a thing. Designer brand Kate Spade has teamed up with Keds for a "bridal range" of plimsolls: glittery, satin, pearl-studded and, most importantly, not high heels.

When I got married nine years ago, I contemplated wearing a pair of trainers under my wedding dress. It seemed like a genius idea: comfortable, ideal for dancing, wouldn't make me walk like a teetering human Jenga tower.

I was talked out of it in the end. I can't remember the reasoning but everyone – family, colleagues, acquaintances, strangers in coffee shops, taxi drivers, the lollipop lady around the corner – were universally appalled by the suggestion.

You'd have thought I had suggested sashaying down the aisle letting it all hang out in a pair of cowboy chaps. In the end, I bowed to inexplicable convention and wore two-inch heels for the ceremony then switched into flat ballet pumps as soon as the formal photographs were done.

Yes, it meant my dress was suddenly two inches too long and swept the floor, soaking up an Irn Bru spill that gave it a glowing orange hue around the hem. But I cared not a jot.

While on honeymoon I saw a woman being pushed around the resort in a wheelchair, her feet heavily bandaged, a few fading welts visible further up her legs. At first glance, I thought she might have been badly stung by a jellyfish.

We got chatting by the bar and it turned out that her war wounds were from – surprise – the shoes that she wore to get married. The elaborate gladiator-style sandals had straps that cut into her flesh, leaving cuts and blisters from her toes to halfway up her calves.

Whenever the pain got too much on her wedding day – during the photographs, the speeches, the dancing – she downed a shot of tequila or took a swig of whisky from her father's hip flash. "I was legless by the end of the night," she said without a hint of irony.

My new friend asked if I would like to see the mangled flesh. I did not. But she pulled the bandages off anyway. What lay beneath – think whiffy chopped pork – could have been used in a public health campaign to warn about the perils of utterly ridiculous footwear.

Mouse proud

MOVE over Marie Kondo, we have a new tidying-up guru. A pensioner baffled by a secret cleaner visiting his garden shed has discovered a surprising culprit.

Each day 72-year-old Stephen Mckears from Gloucestershire would empty a plastic tub of small metal objects onto his work bench. Yet, by the next morning all the pieces had been mysteriously placed back in the container.

READ MORE: Susan Swarbrick: A fresh circle of hell, finding my spirit animal and a scrunchie revival

Was he being haunted by a neat freak poltergeist? Mr Mckears and a neighbour set up a camera to film overnight and found that it was a helpful mouse keeping things spick and span.

If ever there was a tale – or tail – to spark joy, then this would be it. Next week: a badger who loves washing dishes.