Have you considered becoming a hermit? It may be the only answer.

The state of modern politics is such that it’s now impossible for any two British people to talk to each for longer than six minutes without tears, blows or, at the very least, a cold and deeply awkward silence.

A pair of huge stone lions rear over the conversational route; you can’t take a turn without staring into the eyes of one of them. All roads lead to Brexit or to Corbyn. Every traveller is emotional and defensive.

We can’t wave these topics away like we used to, back in the days of universal centrism and a good-humoured, eye-rolling dismissal of “politicians, all the bleedin’ same”.

It used to be said that we had become passive, lazy and detached from the important matters of state. Well, be careful what you wish for: we’re all interested now and that’s because things feel unfair and dangerous. There is a climate of anger, mutual suspicion and blame. Whichever side we’re on, we really care and we’re really worried. We all feel judged. Conversation has gone toxic.

I don’t mean between strangers. This is happening between friends, within families… When I say the only answer is to become a hermit, I’m talking about true, fully isolated hermitdom. You. A cave. A cloak. A cauldron. Done.

In Scotland, there was a taste of things to come a couple of years ago. Running up to the independence vote, those who longed to remain British and those who dreamed of an unyoked Scotland saw each other as unpatriotic. With such personal feeling, and the impossibility of avoiding the subject, it was better just to stay indoors and speak to nobody.

Now the same thing happens when Jeremy Corbyn’s name comes up: nobody’s neutral, everyone is passionate and defensive. You believe either that he’s the only person who can save our broken, corrupt, incompetent and dishonoured political system or that he and a cosy band of antisemites are destroying the Labour party for ever.

On Europe, you voted either for unity, hope, strength in numbers and an altruistic cross-border embrace (and are now feeling sad and frightened) or for a rejuvenation of the forgotten, struggling British workforce and escape from a shady cabal of unelected, back-scratchy EU super-governors (and are now feeling nervous the elite will find a way to skewer the opportunity and sick of being called racist).

Everybody has picked a side and is squinting accusingly across at the other. The most harmless attempted small talk leads inexorably into argument; people get properly upset, friendships are compromised for ever. This just wasn’t the case when the big questions were whether or not Cameron’s too posh or Ed Miliband is klutzy with his sandwiches.

A friend of mine who voted for Brexit told me that he’s stopped going to parties because he can’t bear to be shouted at. Another who voted for Corbyn has stopped seeing a group of mutual friends because a row about his hero turned horribly personal. Nobody can live and let live. Our future is too firmly in each other’s hands.

I really wish this were one of those newspaper columns that offers an answer. But I don’t even understand how a tin opener works. I’m afraid I don’t think we can really do anything about this spiky situation except sit, pray and wait for the wheel to turn.

But, in the meantime, here’s a list of ways to see your friends without falling out.

Have a poker game



It is a fundamental rule of poker that politics and religion are never discussed at the table. You can sit happily insulting each other on any other grounds, bickering about football and sending each other skint, which is somehow less contentious.

Become dependent on hard drugs



Relaunch as a junkie and, if you’re lucky, your friends and family will be quick to arrange an intervention. That is a gathering where you can look forward to seeing lots of familiar faces with no talk of “who gets to keep the mailing list” or “triggering article 50”.

Accuse your partner of an affair



Should the conversation turn unacceptably Corbyny or Brexity at a dinner party, immediately accuse your partner of an affair. Shout that you know you’ve been neglectful, cruel and sporadically abusive, but this never excuses infidelity. This will allow your watching friends to form their own opinions and disapprove with gusto. That is, after all, what they’re enjoying about the Europe and Labour debates.

Cultivate elderly friends



The great thing about the elderly is that there’s always a conversational trump card: health. It’s a topic that distracts them like chocolate buttons distract a labrador (or me). As soon as the chat turns scratchy, a simple cry of “Does anyone have knee trouble?” or “Who can advise me on my ears?” will get the mood back on track in a jiffy.

Phone yourself a bomb scare



Just make sure you’re not claiming the culprits are Remainers, Brexiters, Corbynistas or anti-Corbynistas. Or Mossad. Even Isis isn’t safe. Basque separatists? Fathers4Justice?

Talk about America



If you turn the conversation to America, everything becomes much less heated. People can enjoy a good old-fashioned difference of opinion (some really do think Donald Trump is good news or at least less bad news than the status quo) but, because we don’t actually get a vote over there, at least we can’t blame each other for everything that happens.

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