Well that didn’t work out too well did it? Unless you’re a 51.9%er. As if my Thursday hadn’t been bad enough I had to look at my phone on Friday morning to find we’d pulled out of the EU, like a dog pulling out of a gorilla. Maybe it was always meant to be and although I was just as scared as I thought I’d be I’m certainly not now. That’s because what was earth moving for about 10 seconds will now turn into a tedious, drawn out swinging session between tired lawyers and politicians, negotiating each others tits off. Trust me, don’t listen to Radio 4 on the way to work for a while because you’ll fall asleep at the wheel over a discussion about who owns the rights to use the word ‘aubergine’.
Anyway, lots of people (actually roughly half) are thoroughly pissed off with Europe and most of those people don’t live within 10 miles of London so why would they give a toss about all the slick money that’s floating around very, very far away. It’s not good enough to just label people as northern racists because that just isn’t true. Except for the ones that are northern racists. Or from the West Country. And I don’t mean the Scots either.
Take Boston, Lincolnshire for example. Boston is, or was, Britain’s fattest town. A place where cankles and gunts are a symbol of social gravitas and inertia is measured in days. You really have to want to go to Boston to go to Boston. It’s stuck out on the coast where someone hoped no-one would find it. I’ve been to Boston. I’ve never been up a tramps arsehole but you can see where I’m going. The people of Boston registered one of the biggest % ‘leave’ votes in the UK because they’re sick of being overrun by those sneaky Eastern European types. Yeah, you sneaky Eastern European types, you come over here and get up at three in the morning to break your fucking sneaky Eastern European spines harvesting cauliflowers in the slashing rain, while we sit around developing diabetes and slagging you all off. Why don’t you all fuck off home and leave us to let the fields rot. Who needs cauliflowers anyway, when you’ve got a Chicken Cottage loyalty card?
So, as you can tell, I’m not bitter about us leaving the EU. And I won’t be bitter when Scotland vote to fuck emphatically off to dance round Sturgeon’s little size 3’s until the cash runs out. And I won’t be bitter when I get a shit deal on my Euros next time I go to Europe to appreciate other cultures and history and sandy beaches. And I won’t be bitter every time I look at the front page of the Daily Mail or The Sun and swell with pride to know that I don’t live in Great Britain anymore but I live in little England with it’s ‘bright new future’.
On the other hand, if Europe collapses in on itself like a dying star then I take it all back. That’s the nice thing about all this. It’s just swings and fucking roundabouts. It always was. And it always will be.
G B Hewitt 25.06.2016
We’ll all be sorry when Gove starts calling the shots. But it’s too late to worry about that now. Too fucking late.