As I drove to work this morning in the pissing, pissing, pissing, relentless, bastard, pissing rain I passed a big purple sign saying ‘We want our country back….vote leave’. My first thought was ‘wankers’ (not the voters, the campaigners). My second thought was, again, ‘wankers’(not the voters, the campaigners) . My third thought was ‘well, if I had any doubts before, that fucking sign has just kicked them through a closed sliding glass patio door’. Then, as I flicked my wind-screen wiper to the ‘what have we ever done to you?’ mode I began to rationalise everything. Or maybe I just swore less.
What exactly do the ‘Brexiters’ want back? Their country, of course. Of course, because I’ve been wondering for quite some time where we’d put ‘their’ country, which apparently is not the same as my country, which makes all this very confusing. Where, oh where? The back of the sofa, in with the washing, next to the car keys, bound and gagged in the cellar, silly me it was in my pocket all along etc, etc. By voting to leave what will we get back? What do we think we’ll get back? Imperial measures? The removal of all migrants since the 1960s? Hancock’s Half Hour? Homosexuality being illegal? The autonomy to create a load of crap laws all by ourselves that no-one likes, instead of having other crap new laws that no-one likes imposed on us from ‘Brussels’?
You could of course vote on personality in which case it depends how far down you want to rummage in the barrel of lying, fuck-bag politicians. It matters not a hoot what you think of the ‘remain’ bunch, or that you think Cameron is a badly made plastic sex doll in a suit. The ‘leave’ bunch have Michael Gove and that should be all you need to know. He’s the worst thing that could ever happen to politics. Anywhere (except Trump, clearly). He’s an out of date egg sandwich. He’s the box of Cornflakes from a Kellogg’s Variety Pack. He’s a Catherine Cookson ‘novel’. He’s a Michael Buble album for a desert island disc. He’s an arsehole. The arsehole of a wasp. And just ask yourself – why would you ever vote for any cause that might just give more power and publicity to the arsehole of a wasp? It would be as rational as making Max Clifford minister for convent schools.
So in keeping with all this Brexit horseshit I’ve filled this post with far more questions than are necessary and lots of inverted commas, because that’s all we’ve really been given to go on in the last 6 months. Personally I would rather embrace a future with Europe on side, because being a little island with a little island mentality is no more attractive than a short man with a short man mentality; overly aggressive, low of self-esteem and with a limited reach. On top of that you can console yourself with the knowledge that if or when Russia come knocking, we’re right at the far end of the street. I’ll be voting this evening and I’ll probably be a bit scared tomorrow if we end up leaving. I suppose the ‘leavers’ will get ‘their’ country back. Except for my share, I’m fuckin’ havin’ that.
G B Hewitt. 23.6.2016
James Dyson wants out and I like James Dyson. But his hoover can’t pick up ‘the cat’s’ hairs for shit, so his opinion doesn’t count.