Dear Leader won his referendum while we were in exile. Touring Ireland with a turd the size of a potato taped to the camera sensor, two kids and a craving for nicotine that threatened to consume what little was left of my mind. No. Not true: we were in Geneva when he won, and had fled thence to the Isle of Guinness after seeing Calvin’s chair, which they have parked in a corner of a cathedral the size of a church. A mean little chair with a sharp edged triangular back and a well-worn footrest. Calvin had short legs.