There’s never been a better time to stop trying to understand British politics, and simply decide to experience it as a moodboard. Albeit the sort of moodboard with which crazed killers wallpaper their homes. I see Andrea Leadsom has been “overwhelmed” – not literally, unfortunately – by requests to run again for the Tory leadership. So too, apparently, has Jacob Rees-Mogg – a chap whose shtick was regarded as ludicrously over-the-top 30-odd years ago. By teenagers. At Eton. And I see Nigel Farage and Katie Hopkins are full of praise for Jeremy Corbyn this week. Ewww. I mean, there’s that old political handwave “strange bedfellows”. And then there’s the human centipede (look it up, Nigel).

Katie Hopkins says the Labour leader is a “good man” for backing hard Brexit. Nigel says he’s “almost a proper chap”. These may well mean the same thing as the popular Corbyn epithet “absolute boy” – we simply haven’t yet found the Rosetta stone that will unlock the secrets of our new political landscape. Depending on how you identify politically, you might be wondering whether Jeremy has forfeited his hitherto unbroken record of being on the right side of history, or whether Katie and Nigel have forfeited their hitherto unbroken record of being on the right side of history. Or, indeed, whether cosmic order has finally prevailed, and all three are now on the right side of history.

The other possibility is that you simply missed a crucial episode of the news and will now never catch up. If that’s where you are, I’m with you. Last time I tuned in, Nigel was furious with Jeremy for being on the telly from Glastonbury, and saying, “Build bridges, not walls.” Happily for Nigel, Labour’s Brexit bridge turns out to be of the River Kwai variety.

Of course, if you are a Labour voter who cares very deeply about public services and jobs and believes that a hard Brexit will affect those more meaningfully than anything else, you might find yourself repeating the last line of that famous movie when considering what went down in Parliament this week: “Madness … ! Madness … !” You may even feel confused that some people who spend a lot of time telling moderates they’re morally and idealistically dead inside can then go full Henry Kissinger on their Brexit realpolitik. Please don’t. It’s unfashionable and boring. You don’t win the Nobel peace prize without breaking a few eggs.

Other Labour supporters may be worried that after their recent general election gains, the party is being “a bit Ukippy” in the other, behavioural sense of the term. After each of its biggest electoral leaps forward in the decade and a half before the EU referendum, Ukip always descended into unhelpful infighting, where one leading figure’s casual racism was regarded as being of less integrity than another leading figure’s casual racism. I mean, I’m paraphrasing vaguely here. But we are talking about the narcissism of small differences. It wasn’t the best use of their time and talents. And so with various factions within Labour, who occasionally give the impression they would snog, and indeed marry, the Tories if it allowed them the satisfaction of avoiding people who in fact voted the same way as them.

For what minuscule amount it is worth, I think Jeremy Corbyn is perfectly right to sack members of his shadow cabinet for not toeing his line on Brexit. This, I’m afraid, is British party politics: the voters are forever being asked to compromise, but the politicians don’t have to. At some point the kinder, gentler politics was always going to take a leaf out of Alex Ferguson’s book and start throwing boots at people who disagreed with it, then selling them at the next opportunity.

Even so, one has to wonder whether more might not have been done to bring people together. The puzzle of it is that Labour do have some crack peace negotiators on their side. What about John McDonnell, the missing link between the Troubles and the Good Friday Agreement? Could he not have opened one of his back channels to come to some sort of constructive accord with pro-single market members of his shadow cabinet, and even with Chuka Umunna? Or are they simply too disgusting, compared to the IRA?

Jacob Rees-Mogg: the prime minister-in-waiting? Photograph: Ken McKay/ITV/REX/Shutterstock

Again, it’s hard to get one’s bearings. Like an increasingly diminished episode of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise, we are On Stranger Tides. The other day on the internet a lady was delivering me a lecture on the evils of capitalism and privilege and so on. When I pointed out that her avatar was a £640 Gucci trainer, she said she’d be sure to be wearing them when she kicked my door in. Well, I suppose it’s a partial heads-up. Even so, I’m hoping she’ll shout, “Death to capitalism!” while she’s doing it, because otherwise I might mistake her for a luxury fashion delivery. Obviously I’ve read that not all heroes wear capes, but I must say I have never even come close to aspiring to £640 for a pair of trainers. I must be too … capitalist, is it? Like I say: it is much more amusing to enjoy these back-and-forths rhythmically as opposed to logically.

As for the Tories, the only advice is to buy shares in popcorn. Or call for popcorn to be nationalised, if you prefer. God knows that in my line of work the Conservative shitshow is good for business – and the commitment among some Tories to doubling down on it is more so.

If a putative Tory leadership contest somehow shook down to a run-off between Andrea Leadsom and Jacob Rees-Mogg, I would – without any question – succumb to Stendhal syndrome (this is the thing that happened to the French writer when he saw some Giotto frescoes and almost passed out at the beauty of it all). Having said that, one of them would obviously end up as prime minister for at least a few minutes, which many would regard as taking the joke too far.

So that’s where we’re at. I’ve had narcotic hallucinations that make more sense than some of the political alliances (spoken and unspoken) that are still conveniently out of focus at present. But many of these mysteries will become crystal clear as the country moves to the small matter of its in-tray: Brexit. At that point, we might realise that much of this stuff was like the death of that Spinal Tap drummer: “best left unsolved”.