Today’s news brings us another splashy headline: reports that a fish deal—or lack thereof, could sink UK-EU summit talks. Yes, you read that right. Not nuclear policy. Not AI regulation. Fish. Once again, the humble haddock finds itself thrust to the centre of geopolitics.

One might be forgiven for thinking Britain’s economy is built on a flotilla of trawlers, bravely patrolling the high seas to protect the nation's honour, and lunch. Yet the truth is considerably less seaborne. Fishing contributes just 0.04% to the UK’s GDP. That’s less than the economic weight of the UK’s lawn care industry. And yet, you don’t see No.10 waving union flags over mowers and strimmers.

So why does fish loom so large in the British political imagination? Is it nostalgia for Empire, salted and smoked for good measure? Is it a misplaced belief that cod is a stand-in for sovereignty? Whatever the reason, the result has been years of theatrical squabbling over quotas and access; kabuki diplomacy with barnacles.

Let’s bust the biggest myth head-on: defending British waters is not the same as defending British interests. In fact, post-Brexit trading arrangements have left many UK fishermen worse off than a beached mackerel. Europe remains the largest and most lucrative market for British seafood, but now these products are entangled in a net of red tape. Live shellfish are dying in transit, paperwork is piling up, and small businesses are sinking under the weight of bureaucracy that Brexit was supposed to banish.

And while we’re at it, let’s address the second myth: that Britain is being plundered by swarms of foreign boats. Under various shared arrangements, UK fishermen have long operated in EU waters and vice versa. Spanish armadas on their way to search for riches in the north sea, is largely, like their catch, a lot of pollocks. The sudden obsession with drawing lines in the Channel has done more harm than good, for everyone involved.

If fish really were the national totem they’re made out to be, we might expect to see them celebrated in poetry, minted onto currency, or honoured with bank holidays. Instead, we mostly see them battered, wrapped in paper, and consumed in silence, in cars, in the rain.

So, no, the future of UK-EU diplomacy should not hinge on cod quotas. Nor should fish be used as a proxy for nationalism. If Britain wants to defend its true interests, it would do better to champion smoother trade, smarter partnerships, and fewer political bait-and-switches. Until then, let’s stop pretending that every diplomatic snag is a threat to the sacred order of Fish & Chips, and challenge the real Brexit catch 22s.

In the end, it’s not about sovereignty. It’s about sensibility. And right now, we’re floundering.