On Monday, I emerged from a full day of meetings in Manchester – ten solid hours of back-to-back discussions, no phone checking, no news, no chance to check Twitter. It was the kind of day where even your smartwatch gives up trying to alert you. Total radio silence.

By the time I collapsed into my seat on the train back to London and finally opened the hellsite formerly known as Twitter, I was immediately confronted with what looked, at first glance, like a full-scale national emergency.

There were all-caps declarations about “surrender.” People were screaming about fish. There were solemn black-and-white profile pictures and furious threads about the death of sovereignty. One user was claiming we’d just become a vassal state. Another said it was the end of Britain as we knew it. Someone had posted a picture of Nigel Farage looking disappointed, which is how I knew something had either gone terribly wrong or mildly right.

For a brief moment, I genuinely wondered if we’d entered into a surprise war with the EU in the few hours I’d been out of signal. Had Starmer, in a moment of diplomatic collapse, signed over the Kent and Norfolk coastlines to Ursula von der Leyen in exchange for her agreeing to leave us alone and not impose direct EU rule from a makeshift office in Dover? Had there been a rapid, humiliating capitulation – flags lowered, blue berets deployed and fish markets occupied by Brussels bureaucrats?

The hysteria was that loud. That melodramatic. That unmoored from reality.

So, to help us all cut through the noise, the fantasy and the fish-fuelled fury, here’s a handy FAQ to explain what the deal actually does – and what it absolutely does not.

Did we rejoin the EU?

No. We’re still not in the EU. No single market. No customs union. No vote. No influence. We’re what’s known as a ‘third country’ – on the outside looking in. This deal simply tries to smooth the rough edges left behind by the original Brexit deal, which was rushed, underbaked and fuelled more by Boris Johnson’s need for a photo op than any coherent strategy.

So what actually changed in this new deal?

Several things, mostly technical but important. The new agreement reduces red tape on agri-food exports, potentially saving businesses millions in veterinary checks and delays. It restores e-gate access for British travellers at many EU airports. It lays the groundwork for a youth mobility scheme, similar to what we have with Australia and Japan. And it formally extends EU fishing access in UK waters until 2038 – which was already agreed under Boris Johnson’s deal but is now being repackaged with some actual reciprocal benefits.

Wait, didn’t we already give EU boats access to UK waters?

Yes. That happened under Boris Johnson. It’s not new. His “great deal” signed away full control of our waters in exchange for a thin trade deal and some good press. This latest agreement doesn’t increase access for EU boats – it keeps it at the existing level but gets something in return: smoother exports, fewer border checks and reduced friction for British farmers and food businesses. It’s a net gain from a position of weakness, not a fresh surrender.

But isn’t this a betrayal of British fishermen?

The betrayal already happened – and it had a Union Jack on it. British fishermen were promised control over their waters and a bonanza of post-Brexit freedom. What they got was paperwork, spoiled catches and export nightmares. Markets vanished, especially for shellfish. This deal doesn’t reverse that, but it doesn’t worsen it either. It stabilises the situation and trades what’s already been conceded for something of actual value.

What’s the big deal about e-gates?

If you’ve ever stood in a sweaty passport queue for an hour at a Spanish airport, gagging to get to a nice beach with a reasonably priced chiringuito while watching EU citizens breeze through, you’ll understand. E-gates mean quicker entry into Europe for UK passport holders – no more queueing with arrivals from countries we have no travel treaties with. It’s not about luxury. It’s about time, dignity and function. It also benefits border control staffing on both sides. A small win, but a real one.

Isn’t this all just for the middle class? Working-class people don’t travel!

Tell that to the 15 million Britons who flew to Spain last year. Many of them were working class – and no, they weren’t jetting off for EU conferences or luxury getaways. They were travelling for all the same reasons anyone does: to see family, to work, to get a break from life, or just to sit in the sun for a few days. Mobility isn’t a classed activity – it’s a human one.

And post-Brexit, it’s working people who’ve often been hit hardest by the extra border friction – whether as travellers facing longer queues, or as those working in tourism, hospitality, or transport who’ve seen the disruption up close.

The idea that smoother travel only benefits the middle class is lazy snobbery dressed up as populism. Convenience and dignity at borders shouldn’t be reserved for anyone.

They’re part of what it means to move through the world with some basic respect. Working-class mobility matters – at borders, in jobs and in life. And pretending it doesn’t is just another way of saying some people should be stuck in place while others glide through.

Does this mean the EU can now make our laws?

No. The UK remains a sovereign state. Parliament can still pass, amend and repeal laws whenever it likes – sometimes even after reading them. No one in Brussels is dictating how we run our schools, set our taxes or organise bin collections.

But if we want to sell things to the EU – still our biggest trading partner, despite several years of pretending we didn’t like them anyway – we have to meet their standards for what enters their market. That’s not tyranny. That’s just how trade works.

This isn’t unique to us. Canada doesn’t burst into tears every time it aligns with EU food regulations. The US grumbles, tweaks and still does it. Japan hasn’t held a national day of mourning because it had to follow EU product labelling rules. You want to sell something to someone?

You follow their entry requirements.

Just like you take your shoes off at airport security even when you know you’re not carrying Semtex.

You can’t export chlorinated chicken or unpasteurised sheep’s milk and act surprised when it’s turned away at the border like an underdressed nightclubber. Aligning with standards isn’t surrender – it’s negotiation. It’s weighing up: “Is the market access worth the adjustment?” And deciding for yourself.

The “EU law = tyranny” crowd either haven’t read a trade treaty since GCSE Business Studies, or they’re banking on the rest of us not reading one either. Either way, it’s not a serious argument. It’s cosplay with a copy of The Sun tucked under one arm.

But aren’t we now subject to the European Court of Justice again?

Only in very specific areas and mostly in Northern Ireland, where the ECJ already had limited oversight thanks to Johnson’s original Northern Ireland Protocol. This new deal doesn’t change domestic UK law. The ECJ doesn’t tell British courts what to do. The obsession with the ECJ is mostly theatre – useful for stoking outrage, but meaningless for the average citizen. It’s a spectre, not a sovereign threat.

Did Keir Starmer secretly rejoin the single market?

No. Not even close. Keir Starmer remains committed to the hard Brexit position Labour adopted in 2019 under Corbyn – and quietly reaffirmed under his leadership. There’s no talk of rejoining the single market, customs union or restoring freedom of movement. The red lines drawn by Johnson’s government are still very much in place.

What this deal does is reduce some of the friction caused by those red lines. It doesn’t redraw the map – it just smooths over the worst of the damage. There’s no sweeping realignment with the EU, no backdoor re-entry, no Brussels love-in. It’s technical cooperation in areas like food exports, travel and youth mobility, designed to stop British businesses and citizens from bleeding out at the border.

It’s not a reversal. It’s a minor correction. A bureaucratic bandage. Think of it as Brexit with fewer self-inflicted paper cuts – still dysfunctional, just less bloody.

Isn’t this undermining the referendum result?

Absolutely not. The UK voted to leave the EU. And it did. We’re out of the single market. Out of the customs union. Out of the institutions. We no longer have a seat at the table – or a vote on the rules. That ship sailed, Union Jack flapping wildly from the stern.

This deal doesn’t reverse Brexit. It doesn’t roll back the referendum. It simply tries to make the current arrangement less disastrous for the people and businesses who’ve been living with the fallout for the last eight years. It’s not a stealth re-entry – it’s basic maintenance.

Unless your interpretation of the referendum result was “leave, then never speak to them again, even if it tanks the economy,” then there’s no betrayal here. What would be a betrayal is refusing to govern responsibly – refusing to act in the national interest – just to appease a fantasy version of Brexit that was never real, never deliverable and never properly explained in the first place.

What’s the youth mobility scheme and why are people losing their minds over it?

It’s a proposed reciprocal agreement that would allow young people – typically aged 18 to 30 – from the UK and EU to live, work and travel in each other’s countries for a limited period, usually up to two years. Think of it as a cultural and economic exchange programme with practical benefits on both sides. We already have nearly identical schemes in place with countries like Australia, New Zealand, Canada and Japan, and no one’s claiming those have compromised our sovereignty or reversed history.

But the moment you suggest similar mobility with Europe – you know, the continent right next to us – it’s suddenly treated like a covert operation to rejoin the EU by stealth. It’s not. It’s not “open borders.” It’s not permanent. It doesn’t give anyone a magic citizenship pass. It’s structured, limited and mutually beneficial.

What it is, is a boost to British soft power. It allows young people to gain experience, broaden horizons and build skills – exactly the kind of thing we should be encouraging in an economy that claims to value global trade and innovation.

And yes – Brits benefit too. This isn’t just about “letting them in.” It’s about letting our own young people back out into a world we spent decades integrating with before slamming the door shut. It’s not a reversal. It’s a long-overdue correction.

Are we paying the EU again?

Yes – just a bit. To participate in things like veterinary cooperation, science funding (like Horizon) and travel tech infrastructure, we chip in. Just like we do with any other international programme. It’s transactional, not tribute. You pay to be part of systems that save you money, reduce friction, or make things work. This is not Brussels stealing your lunch money – it’s Britain finally paying the entry fee to a club it still wants to access occasionally.

Why are people like Farage and Johnson so angry?

Because the grift depends on outrage. Always has. The moment Brexit starts to function – even imperfectly, even in small, incremental ways – the myth begins to unravel. It exposes how little actual planning went into the promises. How shallow the slogans were. How quickly the champions of “take back control” fled the room the moment control required responsibility.

People like Farage and Johnson thrive in chaos. In division. In theatrical declarations of betrayal. They need the system to stay broken because it justifies their perpetual state of indignation. If things improve – even modestly – it threatens the entire ecosystem of grievance they’ve built their careers on.

This deal is the opposite of that. It’s not dramatic. It’s not romantic. No one’s going to write campaign jingles about smoother veterinary paperwork or faster passport queues. But it works. It reflects compromise. It involves trade-offs. In other words: it’s boring, grown-up governance.

And boring, grown-up governance is kryptonite to populists. Because it reminds people that complex problems require nuanced solutions – not slogans shouted from the deck of a fishing boat.

Is this the “beginning of the end of Brexit”?

Not remotely. It doesn’t rejoin the single market or customs union. It doesn’t restore free movement. It doesn’t eliminate the red tape that now governs services, finance and many other exports. But it’s the first time we’ve seen an acknowledgement that the current arrangements are hurting real people – and a willingness to fix some of it. It’s not a reversal. It’s triage.

Is this deal perfect?

No. It’s not perfect and it shouldn’t be treated like some great diplomatic renaissance. There’s still a long way to go. A serious, future-facing deal would include deeper regulatory cooperation, mutual recognition of professional qualifications, proper support for services and higher education and simplified rules for cross-border business. This one doesn’t get us all the way there.

But perfection was never on the table – and pretending it was only serves those who want the whole thing to fail.

What we’ve got instead is a solid, grown-up, pragmatic agreement. It doesn’t undo the damage of Brexit, but it does something that’s been missing for years: it starts to repair it. Not with fanfare. Not with bluster. But with real, quietly useful policy decisions that reduce friction and help people get on with their lives.

And if that sounds boring, good. After years of shouting, empty promises and weaponised nostalgia, boring is what we need. Because if the loudest Brexiteers are foaming at the mouth, it usually means the grown-ups are finally getting back in the room.

Brexit was always going to be messy. You can’t rip out four decades of political, legal and economic integration and expect to emerge with your trousers uncreased. The promises were always easier to make than deliver – especially when those promises involved maximum benefits with zero obligations.

This deal doesn’t erase the damage. It doesn’t undo the lost trade, repair the trust, or bring back the influence we once had. But it does represent the first serious, sober attempt to manage the consequences like adults – not ideologues, not fantasists, not flag-wavers shouting from the sidelines.

It says, “This is where we are – so how do we make it less painful?” That’s not betrayal. That’s governance.

If that offends the people who voted for the fantasy version of Brexit – the one where we ruled the waves, exported jam to Australia and never had to compromise again – then perhaps the problem isn’t with the deal. Perhaps it’s with the story they were sold. Or the fine print they chose not to read.

This article was first shared on X and republished with kind permission.

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