Category Archives: Brexit and a collection of other befuddled thoughts…

The Big Brexit Debate – A Rather Irreverent Retrospective

Poor Nigel. Old Leatherface Farage hasn’t been having the best of times recently. It now seems a near certainty that he’ll be facing an interrogation session or two courtesy of the NCA, owing to his significant association with poor man’s rich man Arron Banks and his ever spinning web of obfuscation. There’s also been whispers that the FBI are still sniffing around after the repugnant scent of this especially odious person of interest too. These are merely whispers of course, but it doesn’t look like Farage’s trousers are going to be a tint other than an ominous shade of brown for a while yet.

Not to worry though, at least he’s still on television – gurning away with all the innate charm of a long since discarded slab of ham that’s been rotting away in a septic tank for nigh on 20 years. The venue this time was Channel Four with their recently aired ‘The Big Brexit Debate’.

Nigel’s favourite topic, right? You’d have thought this a wonderful opportunity for Mr Farage to engage with the electorate and proselytise about the “proper” Brexit he claims they voted for.

Alas, it didn’t go quite to plan.

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If you think that smile seems insincere, just wait until you see his attempts towards the end of the show.

The premise of the show was fairly simple. Channel Four, in conjunction with polling company Survation, had carried out the largest independent survey on all matters Brexit in a bid to get some indication as to what the country currently thinks. Over 20,000 people from across all constituencies took part, so we’re talking pretty big numbers in terms of polling with all the relevant details being found here.

So what actually happened? What exactly was it that tripped the switch in Nigel’s brain, transforming him from your run of the mill, sleazy propagandist to a babbling loon who gave the impression of being only a few breakdowns away from Alex Jones?

Probably this:

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“Will of the people” you say?

This result naturally sent Farage into a full scale meltdown, offering up the frankly bizarre insistence that all this proved in his mind was that Leave would win a hypothetical people’s vote by a bigger margin than previously, before rounding off the night with a typically paranoid tirade bemoaning the studio being full of Remainers. An unhinged conspiracy which drew surprisingly loud cheers from Leave voters in the audience to say that they weren’t there.

To be fair to poor Nigel, his narrative had taken a bit of a pounding all night. Not only did the public seem rather more keen on free movement than his utterances over the decades might suggest (though as panellist Sir John Curtice pointed out, the semantics of the question often sway the answer), he also suffered the indignity of being a far less favourable option than his omnifoe Theresa May when it came to who’d get the best Brexit deal.

Though it has to be said, nobody else really fared much better. Even Corbyn.

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Anyone else starting to get the feeling that a “good” Brexit deal is simply impossible?

As fun as it is to laugh at Nigel for being a hapless tit who’s as representative of the British people as Prince Charles is of the working class, it wasn’t all joy for those cheering on Remain. Most strikingly, only 48% of 18-24 year old respondents signalled their intent to definitely vote in a potential future vote – not shifting one iota from the actual turnout of young people in 2016.

This left the otherwise composed Caroline Lucas somewhat dumbfounded, while giving those banking on the notion of a Brexit induced political awakening amongst the nation’s whippersnappers significant pause for thought. Perhaps a repeat of the harsh lesson struck on the morning following the referendum – there’s a myriad of differing perspectives outside the confines of your echo chamber from which nothing can be safely assumed.

This brings us onto undoubtedly the most striking moment of the night, courtesy of one Barry Gardiner.

Craftily planted alongside Tory Justice Secretary David Gauke, most of his evening predictably descended into a policy based dick measuring contest; the eternal rivals squabbling for what seemed like a century over which of their deeply flawed Brexit manifestos best respected 2016’s result.

However an evening spent picking apart the endless minutiae attached to the hopelessly nebulous ‘will of the people’ concept came to an abrupt whistle stop when the answer to the big question finally came, leaving poor Mr Gardiner looking as though host Krishnan Guru-Murthy had revealed himself to be a medium with Barry having been dead the entire time.

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Ever get the feeling you’re playing for the wrong team?

Gardiner’s potential moral quandary aside, the big question which still lingers is what does it all mean? And where does it leave the potential for a people’s vote?

Firstly, as satisfying as the outcome may have been for treasonous Remainer types such as myself, to use this as conclusive proof of a shift in the zeitgeist would be foolish on two counts. Not only does a gratuitous sense of self righteousness ultimately serve nobody, it would simply give rise to the same naive complacency which likely cost Remain dear last time out. Furthermore, it’s just a poll. As large as the sample size was and irrespective of how meticulous Survation were in their methodology, it ultimately can only serve as cautious insight as to what the prevailing mood actually is. Favourable towards Remain perhaps, but it’s still just a tiny glimpse into what might be out there.

As for the supposed necessity of a people’s vote, one of the best arguments for this arguably came by way of inadvertent implication – and it was all thanks to Harriet Ellis.

More commonly known as “the girl who rolled her eyes as Farage was talking”.

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I know how you feel. We all do.

She was assumed by many to simply be a Remain voter, understandably frustrated at yet more witless bloviations from Nigel Farage. But no, she actually voted for Brexit – and it’s her reasons for doing so which struck me the most.

Rather than adopting the assumed pro-Brexit stance of being against immigration, she’s actually in favour of it; viewing Brexit as a way of ensuring that immigrants across the globe get a fair chance to settle in Britain without priority being given to EU nationals.

An atypical stance indeed, but it’s this diversity of opinion which ought to define what a people’s vote should really be about. While many supporters of the idea are unsurprisingly weary Remainers who see it as a chance to right a wrong, it’d be to their great folly if they were to hold that up as the overriding motivation.

Brexit doesn’t mean Brexit. The public voted Leave for plethora of reasons, each specifically devised from their own individual convictions. Sweeping generalisations may be of benefit to simplicity but they stifle debate to the point where nuance becomes lost beneath the broad strokes of lazy categorisation.

I’m sure many Remainers will be heartened by the show’s outcome, but it’d be all to easy to miss the subtext beneath the surface. People by their very nature have a wide variety of opinions on this subject – and it’d be a betrayal of the very democracy Brexit was supposed to stand for to not ask each and every one of them what they think.

 

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Nigel Farage and the Great Brexit Swindle

You’ve all heard of one hit wonders. Rick Astley? Dexys Midnight Runners? Those two bald blokes of which one was presumably called Fred? You know who I’m talking about. They’ll continue to tour and release new material, toiling up and down the country flogging their internally cherished but outwardly forgettable new album; but the majority of their modest audience are only there for one thing – that one hit song which brought about an all too fleeting moment of fame. Try as they might, all the other numbers are just an excuse for punters to nip off for a piss.

If only such a concept was indeed limited to the musical world but alas, we’re not so fortunate. After all, were such yawnsome regurgitation be confined to an ailing pop act clinging onto some form of relevancy, we’d have been spared the excruciating presence of a political super-group (“super” being used in the loosest possible sense of course) banding together from the remnants of various bands of Eurosceptics and hitting the road.

Yes, fresh off the back of the Vote Leave scandal, ex-members have joined forces with disparate Brexiteer tribute acts from across the nation and formed a truly malignant conglomerate – Leave Means Leave. Fronted no less by a man so toxic, Vote Leave didn’t even let him join the band in the first place.

Of course I speak of the self styled “Bad Boy of Brexit” himself – Nigel Farage.

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It’s like that time Pink Floyd reformed for Live 8, only this time they have absolutely no interest in helping foreigners.

Rather like The Fall, with each gig the line up is ever changing – save for Farage adopting the Mark E. Smith role, albeit only bothering to emulate the booze soaked, old-before-its-time chassis from the late singer and leaving the wit, charm and enduring talent firmly to one side.

Though whichever backing member is flanking Nigel, whether it be the dull witted, semi-coherence of Tim Martin or the ghoulish detachment of Jacob Rees-Mogg, they’re ultimately just window dressing – Farage is the main attraction.

But why, having previously claimed he was done with politics and “wanted his life back”, has Nigel backtracked on his self imposed “retirement” from the front line politics he was never especially a part of and hit the Brexit campaign trail once more? To deliver the “proper” Brexit he previously promised yet continues to define in varying contradictory terms? Perhaps, but the £6 entry fee for Leave Means Leave gigs likely provides a more telling insight into his motivations.

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Surprisingly, there weren’t many takers.

Let’s face facts – Nigel Farage is a one note performer. Brexit has ultimately been his only political aim and, once it’s been achieved, there’s not really anywhere else for him to go. You could argue that, having ripped Britain from the oddly unrestrictive shackles of the nefarious EU via subterfuge, his mission has been accomplished, but that would only serve to paint half a picture. Farage is not only a wealthy man who enjoys a lifestyle of privilege and comfort but also craves the spotlight – and when you’re known as “Mr Brexit” there’s few prizes for guessing that Brexit and Brexit alone is the only field which will ever bear fruit for Nigel.

Which is precisely why his recent cries lamenting a supposed Brexit “sell-out” were unlikely to be laced with as much anger as one might initially expect.

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“Sell-out” being a term that was never once associated with his recent tour of Australia.

Dubious indignation aside, being able to impose such a narrative really is the gift that keeps on giving for Farage. Think about it – not only will he be guaranteed yet more uniformly tortuous media appearances to bolster his profile and swell his bank account, but it also gives him plausible deniability for the unremitting chaos that is ever the more suffocating our country with each passing day. The idea of “If only we’d listened to Nigel, Brexit would have been sorted by now!” may be absurd but there’s nevertheless still life to be had in this most deceptive of rhetoric. As easy as it is to mock those at the Leave Means Leave rallies for looking like the cast of Last of the Summer Wine at a 30 year reunion they’re still showing up, paying the entry fee and cheering along with each and every reality denying utterance which spills from Nigel’s nicotine stained lips, topping up the fuel tanks as the Brexit gravy train chugs ever onward.

It’s not as though Farage hasn’t tried over avenues. He recently underwent a tour of Australia with his “An Entertaining Evening with Nigel Farage” show – though given the lack of ticket sales and outright cancellation of the event in Sydney, it seems likely that many Australians considered an evening spent having their genitals gnawed off by a venomous spider a more entertaining alternative than paying good money to listen to the embittered bloviations of the one poisonous snake who still can’t find his way into the British Parliament.

So with his post-Brexit dreams of being an internationally renown raconteur having already disappeared round the u-bend where does that leave poor Nigel? Well, it’s true that he’s managed to secure a semi-regular stint as a Fox News contributor over in the States but that’s never struck me as something with much of a shelf life. Brexit aside, the only genuine recognition he gets in the States is as a preposterous British caricature who unquestioningly offers snivelling deference to President Trump. Once that particular nightmare is over, Americans will see another fade into obscurity in a rather inviting ‘two for the price of one’ deal.

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I’m not sure his plans for the leading role in a remake of Casablanca will yield much success either.

Truth be known, Brexit is really all Nigel Farage has. However long this seemingly eternal omnishambles blunders on Nigel will be there, feeding off it like a parasite. It gives him life, it gives him fame and it brings him money. It matters not that he’s got no solutions himself, he never had – unless you count the one he kept exclusively for himself.

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Say no more.

Brexit may have thrown millions of lives in a state of paralysis, left many wondering whether they’ll still have a job or even a home when all’s said and done. But Nigel’s not worried – the frontman of the merry band of charlatans who brought this all about in the first place will still be whistling a joyful tune.

All the way to the bank.

Believe in Brexit or we’ll burn your house down

Scaremongering seems to have become somewhat of a buzzword in recent times. For each and every warning of Brexit induced economic calamity that passes the lips of an intellectually sound and extensively qualified expert, a caddish, booze drenched perpetual parliamentary failure will immediately materialise to indignantly dismiss it all as “Project Fear” – a phrase which would be far more at home adorning the bass drum in a sadly forgotten 70s progressive rock outfit than it is muddying the waters of British political discourse.

If you’re expecting something more substantial, I’m afraid I can only disappoint. There are no robust counterpoints, no detailed mathematical breakdowns which clearly demonstrates exactly how and why the experts are wrong – those two words are really all that’s on offer here. Save for the insinuation that such gloomy predictions are all the work of a nebulous cabal of globalist Remainers funded entirely by George Soros – a man who invokes such unbridled rage within Nigel Farage that I can only presume Soros ran over his dog at some point.

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Would you trust your entire future to this man? If “yes” – please consult your local GP.

As illogical as such flagrantly empty propaganda is however, it’s undeniable that it does the trick. So much so that it’s allowed disconcerting amounts of bona fide scaremongering to slither its way into the zeitgeist – alarmingly unchecked.

Case in point being this recent screed of stupefying insanity from Tony Parsons – a piece which includes a leap of logic so vast, it circumnavigates the globe twice.

Upon first coming across this festering morsel of unfettered bilge, I was initially expecting to have enough in the way of usable material in order to craft a moderately detailed response. However, having waded through this especially sorry portion of the septic swamp that is Parsons’ mind, it became apparent that there wasn’t anything even vaguely substantive to respond to. All I got was that there’s a considerable far right presence in Germany, Merkel’s power is waning and as such we must proceed with Brexit otherwise violence will ensue in Britain. An argument so lacking in logical coherence, it’s rather difficult to view it as an argument at all – instead being easier to categorise as an oblique threat should Tony and his fellow travellers not get their own way.

Not to do Mr Parsons a complete disservice, there was a sliver of a rationale behind his ramblings – albeit one with such a flimsy structural integrity that it would buckle under pressure in a similar manner to ladder constructed entirely out of paper.

Namely, the betrayal of democracy argument.

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Project Fear – it comes in many forms.

It’s an argument you’ll hear a lot. Fantasist enabler in chief Nigel Farage is most certainly a fan, going as far to threaten to “pick up a rifle” should the great Brexit swindle not come to pass. Of course should Brexit be defeated in a second vote, this would merely be democracy in action as opposed to a treasonous act of betrayal; a fact which should be clearly apparent to anyone possessing sufficient intellect to outwit the average pebble. So why, despite the absurdity of the argumentation and the staggering hypocrisy behind the promises of civil unrest, does it remain so popular?

Simple. It appeals to the base.

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Remember when the EU stole Christmas? No, me neither.

There’s nothing quite like perpetuating a victimhood narrative should you wish to invoke fury amongst your ranks. Everyone remembers the propagandist nonsense that was spewed out in the run up to the referendum after all. You know, how swathes of suspicious dark skinned chancers are flooding onto our shores from far off foreign lands, destroying what it means to be British and hell bent on stealing your specific sense of freedom in particular? Xenophobic bollocks perhaps, but it got people angry and inspired the Brexit base to mobilise.

Though this tactic is far from self sustaining. Not only do you lose the mantle of ‘downtrodden underdog’ when you’ve supposedly won the day, there’s also potential repercussions that come with the victory being so Pyrrhic in nature that it’s only a matter of time before your disciples realise they’ve been hoodwinked.

So what do you do? Why switch to another teat of imperceptible persecution of course. Keep stoking those fires of resentment, continue to blame the EU for Brexit’s every failing and, most insidiously of all, implant the idea that the self absorbed elitist establishment are somehow trying to subvert the will of the common man – an act so heinous that, by way of unscrupulous implication, violence is presented as the only solution;  a two pronged assault on the very foundations of a functioning democracy that serves to both intimidate and spawn dissent. If it’s good enough for Donald Trump, it’s certainly good enough for his most simpering of lickspittles.

Most depressingly of all, this leads us onto perhaps the most bitter of ironies. The truth is, widespread civil unrest only really occurs in a country that is crumbling under the weight of its own dysfunction. Things haven’t really been too bad in recent times for Britain. There’s been pockets of disruption for sure, but nothing that has infected the general populous to the extent that it’s created a self sustaining uprising of revolt capable of bringing the country to its knees. As long as there’s food on the shelves, employment opportunities to be had and a functioning healthcare system people are generally happy to mind their own business, never letting their sense of disgruntlement escalate to chucking a Molotov through the window of their local police station.

Should Nigel Farage get his way and a no-deal Brexit does indeed transpire however:

Capture

Scaremongering? Perhaps – but this isn’t the work of the eternally nefarious George Soros trying to swipe the sovereignty out of your back pocket.

This is our own government.

Theresa May and the Cavalcade of Calamity

Let’s be honest, Theresa May is far from an inspirational public speaker. Unnervingly stilted and forever crippled by an unmistakable undercurrent of disingenuity, she doesn’t so much kindle the fires of hope within your being, more gradually drowns your helpless soul under an ever rising tide of apathy.

Still, for better or for worse (spoilers: the latter) she is indeed our Prime Minster and, ostensibly, our leader on the world stage. So it was to the consternation of many to see her cutting a decidedly isolated figure amongst EU leaders at the recent summit in Salzburg.

It was almost as though we’d done something to piss them off.

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Should have worn blue really.

Everyone saw it. The nation and indeed the world as a whole looked on aghast as Britain, once a major influence within the European Parliament, reduced to a similar role to that of a evolution textbook in Alabama.

The howls of indignation from the usual suspects of hard Brexit mouthpieces were as excruciatingly illogical as they were predictable. How dare they treat our Prime Minister this way – all the while conveniently side-stepping the fact that they’d spent the past two years accusing May of being a Remain saboteur who was desperate to sell out the nation to her EU masters. Though such transient morality should hardly be a surprise when it comes from those that place feelings firmly ahead of facts – feelings can change in an instant, facts tend to be more rigid.

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Leave.EU here, feigning shock at the very same EU leaders they’d spent years insisting we shouldn’t hang around with not being especially keen on hanging around with us themselves.

Breathtaking hypocrisy aside, it seemed like an apparent eternity of ritual humiliation had taken its toll on poor Mrs May. As if being harangued at home by those who wish to replace her with a bumbling yet sinister Etonian new potato wasn’t bad enough, her cherished Chequers proposal (I’ll stop short of calling it a coherent plan) had suffered an inevitable rejection on account of it being entirely unworkable.

An understandable quibble perhaps, but it certainly proved to be the straw that broke Theresa’s back. So much so that, upon her arrival back on our shores, she felt compelled to take to the stage and deliver an unexpected statement – albeit after power issues at Number 10 caused a delay in a not at all metaphorical blooper brought about by sheer happenstance.

What happened next had to be seen to be believed – and even then it’s likely to mistake it for some sort of horrendous, narcotic induced hallucination.

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Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned – except not really in this case.

It really was a sight to behold – almost a performance piece of denialism straight out of the uncanny valley. It’s fair to say that there was somewhat more vigour in this speech than the usual flat-line; as if the recent rebuff had finally ignited a flicker of emotion within the first replicant to ever hold high government office. However actually managing to win the attention of your audience does come with the odd potential pitfall – they’ll actually be listening to the words you’re saying.

The delivery may have been marginally more forthright, but the content was ultimately the same formulaic, heavily rehearsed piffle that we’ve heard a billion times before; yet here she was, repeating her incredibly dubious dogma as though the added semblance of gusto will somehow drag it kicking and screaming into the realms of plausible reality. Unfortunately, as our self imposed deadline grows ever closer with time fast trickling away, trotting out unfounded assertions and attempting to sling the burden of culpability over to the EU’s side of the court isn’t terribly useful – unless your objective is to look like a demented fantasist and crash your own national currency.

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If you thought that was bad, wait until her speech at the Tory Party Conference causes the Sun to explode.

Granted not everyone looked upon it as an embarrassing failure – the Daily Express referred to it as her “finest hour”, perhaps unwittingly offering a tacit admission as to how low the bar of acceptability has really sunk when it comes to May’s time in office. The Sun also offered us this typically ludicrous front page, which clearly won’t be looked back upon in years to come as the very apex of nationalistic stupidity.

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Geri Halliwell wore it better.

As for myself, well it left me feeling rather despondent. Perhaps I should be used to such a sensation by now but we really are approaching the end game. Seeing our nation’s attempts at international diplomacy still marooned in the jingoistic sloganeering stage is just further confirmation that absolutely no progress has been made since the UK voted to leave. It’s become almost immaterial as to whether the lazy attempts at PR wash with the public anymore, it’s clear by this point it’s all May and her government really have – so that’s all we’re ever going to get.

It’s this state of perpetual impasse that reveals the inherent irony which has plagued Brexit from the very beginning. While initially heralded as a bid to “take back control”, achieve true independence and show the world what we as a nation are capable of, in actuality it’s been a sorry procession of blunders, eternally undermined by the lack of any clear objective; all the while maintaining a stubborn insistence that the endless cavalcade of calamity is somebody else’s fault – namely the European Union.

Which leads onto perhaps the most delicious irony of all. Hidden away amongst the more familiar soundbites in May’s speech was a minor yet oh so telling new addition – frustration that the EU haven’t provided a counter proposal to soothe the headaches exclusive to the United Kingdom.

For all Theresa’s attempts at posturing and playing hardball, it’ll all be for nought. The only thing Donald Tusk will see is a desperate British Prime Minister, waiting in vain for the EU to solve a Brexit conundrum entirely of the UK’s own making.

Open Letter to Theresa May – A somewhat disgruntled response

Hello Prime Minister,

We’ve never met. In fact, we’re unlikely ever to do so – I’m merely one of those British citizens you were curiously reluctant to meet back in 2017, avoiding us with the same steadfast caution normally associated with an outbreak of the norovirus. To you I’m little more than an irrelevance, ultimately offering you nothing beyond a cat in hell’s chance of periodically lending my solitary vote to your party.

However I couldn’t help but notice your article in The Telegraph yesterday. Given how your tenure as Prime Minister has been almost entirely characterised by a rather alarming disinclination to engage with those your purport to represent, it’s fair to say my interest was piqued. Having witnessed many previous attempts at addressing your people, your stage presence laced with insincerity and a cold streak that sets off every Voight-Kampff machine within a ten mile radius, I can’t deny I was rather interested to see what your smarts could come up with when limited to the relative safe-haven of print media – a medium in which your many foibles and staggering disingenuity should arguably be less of a crutch with the gaze of a nation no longer transfixed directly upon you.

So I had a read. After all, as a member of our nation’s electorate it was essentially addressed to the likes of me – albeit indirectly. Nevertheless, despite inspiration being a term that has never previously been associated with yourself, I’m forced to admit that, in this case, your words did indeed inspire a reaction within me.

Regrettably, said reaction was one of unbridled rage which left me feeling obligated to respond – just who the hell do you think you’re talking to?

I can only presume that the thought process behind your lamentable screed was one of empty placation. As reclusive as you evidently are, it can’t have escaped your attention that a feeling of chronic consternation has long since enshrouded the populace you serve. Each and every day we continue our ungainly stumble towards the Brexit precipice, each step accompanied by a grim yet inevitable dose of reality urging us to reconsider. People are understandably worried and not just for themselves. They’re worried about their families, their friends and, perhaps most of all, what a Brexit you’ve routinely failed to define will actually do to their country as the last moments of the 29th March 2019 finally trickle away.

And this was the best you come up with? The same empty and diversionary platitudes you wretched out over two years ago? While it’s true that the political class has always held the cognitive capacity of the proletariat in a perpetual state of withering contempt, to fob off legitimately concerned citizens with such formulaic piffle is but further testament to the achingly apparent disdain you clearly possess for our collective intelligence. Such a verdict may indeed seem hasty, but the only alternative I’m able to fathom is that your mind could simply be lost within a haze of impenetrable delusion – which once again is a perception that brings little in the way of comfort.

Now I’m not the smartest of cookies, nor am I the sharpest tool in the drawer by any means – which is why I’ll leave the finer points of your waffle to those who would easily best me in a battle of political acumen. That said, I do still possess working eyes, ears and a modest yet functional ability to interpret what’s going on around me – and, even with this limited arsenal of intellectual weaponry, I’m able to decipher as to when events are going horrifically awry. It doesn’t take a genius to understand that a fifth of EU doctors preparing to leave our already crippled NHS isn’t exactly a cause for celebration. You don’t have to be Stephen Hawking to realise that our continued economic decline most likely isn’t an unfortunate coincidence. It also isn’t the most profound of insights to determine that our own government making plans to stockpile food and medicine is an alarming symptom of a nation preparing for capitulation.

Yet you, our nation’s Prime Minister, are not only happy to exhibit such breathtaking hubris as to sweep the warnings of experts (who are infinitely smarter and more experienced in such matters than yourself, I hasten to add) under the carpet, you also demonstrate a callous disregard for the lives and well-being of the millions trapped under your pitiful stewardship – a duty of care that has been neglected to the point whereby you deny them the chance to regain some sense of control over a destiny you clearly don’t care about.

Putting your obvious incompetence to one side, such a reckless and stubborn commitment to a jingoistic fantasy can only be interpreted as the actions of a demagogue acting purely in their own self interest. We’ve all found ourselves bemused onlookers to the laughable spectacle of the Conservative Party imploding under the weight of its own ideological imbalances – and staving off what is at this point now an inevitable collapse seems to be your only desire. After all us mere plebs can only vote against you every five years and without an election on the horizon our concerns are of no interest to you – hence your risible, half-hearted and sporadic attempts to placate us.

You ask us to trust you, yet you fill your cabinet with liars. You say you’ll deliver a “bold and exciting” future for our country outside the European Union, yet can only back this up with vague and wholly dubious proclamations. You say you will offer strong and stable leadership, yet you cannot answer even the simplest and most dichotomous of questions. With this in mind, it’s perhaps rather obvious as to why you’re against giving the public a final say on Brexit – for there is little else which could possibly provide such a damning indictment on the deplorable state of your eternally regrettable tenure as Prime Minister.

Don’t worry though – when all’s said and done you’ll be fine. Being the Prime Minister undoubtedly pays well and you’ll be able to utilise such an employment history to accrue further unmerited income for the rest of your days. I’m afraid to say that’ll be no help to the rest of us however. Us normal folk will still be toiling away and desperately attempting to make ends meet from one unstable pay-cheque to the next – only now we’ll be further hamstrung by the crumbling economy of a once prosperous nation; fully perpetuated by your protection of the very same dogmatic careerists who set this sorry pageant into motion in the first place.

Not that you’ll care though. Why break the habit of a lifetime?

Impotent chest-beating, insidious tossery and the hopeless descent into the Brexit void

With Parliament pissing off on their summer jollies for 48 days, you could be forgiven for assuming that we’d be in for a period of respite from the usual deluge of disingenuous fuckwittery flooding the political discourse with empty promises and excruciating sloganeering. However, much to everyone’s dismay, it turned out that there is one, pus laden boil on the arsecheek of humanity still lingering in the shadows to exude that familiar smog of deceit into an already tempestuous atmosphere:

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Achieving the “easiest trade deal in history” is quite tricky when you’re impossibly inept.

Yes, that is the disgraced Liam Fox MP you’re witnessing above, advocating for an entirely different reality than the one of staggering complacency he attempted to portray just under a year ago. Naturally this is little more than brazen political gamesmanship designed to hoodwink the apparently unwashed into buying into an idea that will exclusively benefit Liam Fox and his cabal of independently wealthy bastards – and, on at least some perhaps superficial level, pretty much everyone is aware of this deceit. Sure, it’ll provoke howls of derision from the perpetual abyss of unbridled outrage known as social media – but it’ll soon be superseded by the next obnoxious meme or Boris Johnson accidentally poisoning an entire reservoir by way of his own rancid piss, leaving the previous beacon of contempt to inconspicuously vanish into the ether; forever escaping tangible accountability.

So far, so standard. Politicians being duplicitous scumfucks has been the case ever since they first slithered into our realm but, while our previous passivity may have led to us being played for saps on many an occasion, the hustle was nevertheless played out against a backdrop of stability. It always helps to have the safety net of economic and diplomatic security when you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing – that’s just logical.

However that’s all about to change. Not only is the aforementioned net about to be ripped away from underneath us, it’s being removed entirely at our own behest. An act of madness certainly though, rather disconcertingly, one of which the true consequences are yet to be fully understood and appreciated by the general public – myself included.

This is perfectly understandable. After all, how would we know any different? We’ve spent decades living a relatively cossetted existence which, while not exactly utopia, at least afforded us fully stocked supermarkets and a nationalised health system to stitch us back together. As a man ever hurtling towards the eternally dreaded thirty mark, it’s certainly all I’ve ever known. I can appreciate a crumbling society on a conceptual level, but it remains lost to me viscerally; a lack of experience I suspect shared by the majority.

This is probably why propagandist appeals to my elbow grease gland like the one below, have little to no effect on my ilk.

paxmanpiffle
I may be totally clueless with regards global economics, international diplomacy and basically as to how anything even works – but it’ll all be fine based on my not being alive to shoot down German fighter planes 70 odd years ago.

Yes, that’s right. Over two years on from the referendum and with the nation sliding ever towards the Brexit abyss, the level of pro-Leave debate still hasn’t evolved beyond the point of slapping an ostensibly reputable face alongside suspiciously shallow yet unmistakably cretinous platitudes.

While somewhat baffling, the reason behind this remains relatively simple – there just isn’t a logical argument for Brexit being a better path than the one we were previously treading. It would be nothing short of unrealistic to anticipate one, what with the prospect being terminally crippled through lack of supporting facts – creating a task akin to constructing an international high speed rail network spanning the entire globe exclusively out of bread. A tantalising concept for a hungry dreamer forever lost amidst the clouds perhaps, but not exactly compatible with any known reality.

So, ultimately, what other choice do the Brexit propagandists have? Those that have dared to stick their head above the parapet and present some form of reasonable argument found themselves eviscerated like shit in a blender – not the most dignified of positions to find yourself in, I’m sure you’ll agree.

Still, jingoistic tub-thumping and bizarre nostalgia for a thoroughly miserable past will only stave off those pesky, inquisitive questions for so long – so what else can you do? With another distraction needed, maybe a scandal will work? Something to anger the plebs to such a degree that their memories of concern will become lost amidst a haze of righteous outrage; but where could we find a toad so unscrupulous as to sacrifice what’s left of their soul to such a caper?

Capture
Yes, that should do it.

Of course, it had to be Boris – it could only be Boris. Say what you like about the bulbous bumblefuck but he’s a master of creating a convenient disturbance – and when scrutiny looms Boris hurls a handful of shit at the nearest fan without so much as a moment’s hesitation. Sure, there’s bound to be some amount of splashback for old Boris; people will justifiably hound him for his intentionally inflammatory babblings, but they’re just words – empty yet wonderfully intangible words. That’s not to say they can be utilised without repercussion but, if you’re sufficiently weaselly, chances are you’ll be able to nudge your insidious agenda far enough over the boundary while still being within touching distance of cover – albeit a shoddily assembled picket fence made up of semantics and misdirection; but at least empty, political spiel is easier to defend than an absurdly risky diplomatic proposal.

In actuality, this is perhaps the gravest concern of all. That such ham-fisted filibustering nevertheless manages to succeed in averting the allegedly unremitting gaze of public scrutiny. It may be mocked, it may be derided but, effectively by way of omission, it’s accepted – and that’s really not good enough.

Time is running short, desperately so. Yet our understanding of what awaits us is demonstrably lacking – and that’s just the politicians attempting to steer the ship while drunk on their own hubris. On every cognitive level you can fathom, it should be drowning out your internal monologue with piercing alarm bells; but the alarms barely sound – as though the stench of detached disdain emanating from the bubble of Westminster has anaesthetised us to such an extent that we’re but helpless drones, ever sleepwalking into a void we can’t even begin to perceive.

 

 

The People’s Vote, Brexit and two entire years of impotent fiddlefucking.

Remember the EU referendum? Sure you do, it was only two years ago. We all vividly recall the respective campaigns, it’s almost impossible not to given the vitriol and division it created. Remain had their tedious approval of the status quo, forever insistent that a failure to heed their message would be met with the most mundane torrent of doom imaginable – and we had Leave contingent, with their somewhat jingoistic proclamation that we should throw off the shackles of supposed EU tyranny and drive a suspiciously mendacious bus over the horizon, ever onward towards a previously untapped land of gumdrops and global prosperity.

As astonishing as it may seem, Remain’s cautionary screed detailing the perils and pitfalls of economic downturn didn’t quite have the same sex appeal as promises of previously unfathomable wealth and a magic unicorn on every driveway – perhaps signifying that Leave’s eventual triumph wasn’t quite the Earth shattering upset it was initially portrayed as.

Michael-Gove
If you consider this sex appeal, just wait until you get a load of Nigel.

Still, whether the apple cart was toppled over or not, Leave had won the PR war and victory was immediately seized upon as the inerrant “will of the people” – with anyone who dared express concern as to the feasibility of this master plan being simply dismissed off-hand as a sore loser, wallowing in their own sense of bitter incredulity.

With this in mind however, it does indeed beg the question as to why today, two years on from a supposedly infallible expression of unyielding intent, thousands of people are taking to the streets of London to decry that very notion, demanding they be afforded some semblance of control.

I’m far from infallible myself, but I suspect it may have something to do with this:

full
Boris can scoff all he wants, at least a bog roll Brexit will afford us the tools to clear up the shit it’ll inevitably leave in its wake.

Yes, that is a real headline; and not from the preposterously backward universe next door. Horrifyingly, it’s from our own.

You likely recall similarly tiresome platitudes polluting the discussion way back in the aftermath of Leave’s victory. While naturally concerning to see figures like Boris Johnson (who days prior had taken to the stage, beaten his chest and declared a national day of independence in the event of his triumph) seemingly at a loss as to what the fuck he was supposed to do, time at least remained just about on our side. Scepticism was obviously rife, not least from increasingly inquisitive Remainers, but joyous Brexiteers were insistent that it’d be figured out in due course.

Two years on however, Vote Leave figurehead Boris Johnson is still marooned in the ‘mindless platitudes’ stage:

bog roll boris
It seems fitting that such a prominent bullshitter would have an inexhaustible supply of toilet paper.

Oh Boris, you cretinous bumblefuck. You sure can craft a soundbite capable of warding off suspicion from the most suggestible of Brexit loyalists, but unfortunately empty rhetoric doesn’t have a morsel of economic value and, consequently, isn’t suitable fuel for what is undoubtedly Britain’s most drastic diplomatic move in decades. Jingoistic bluster may well have swung the referendum, but it’s of no use to the subsequent aftermath – a fact that has become increasingly apparent as the months drifted by without even an iota of tangible progress. Of course that doesn’t stop both leading parties from attempting to create the impression of success, conveniently ignoring that their respective flavours of Brexit have already been unceremoniously spat out by the EU, but they try nevertheless – though it’s little surprise that many haven’t been fooled.

It’s from that very sense of disenfranchisement that the People’s Vote was spawned.

proud

The merits of such a concept are something I’ve touched upon previously, so I’ll spare you an explanation. However, I would like to address the inevitable scorn that has already been doled out by the usual suspects of shitehawks.

shitehawk
Oh look, Julia’s got democracy confused with shopping again.

You can dismiss the marchers as nutters, you can disagree with their politics – but in no way can you claim that they’re enemies of democracy, fiendishly attempting to subvert the nation’s collective will. You may rightly point out that the EU referendum was democracy in action but, as inconvenient to your narrative as it may be, today’s march is too. If Brexit really was the golden ticket to utopia it was advertised as, then there’d be no need for this. People are pissed off and justifiably so. They were told Brexit would improve their lives, heralding a new dawn of democratic accountability and a properly funded NHS – yet after two fucking years we’ve received nothing more than a few risible slogans equating crashing our economy with the desire for a decent breakfast. Ludicrous doesn’t quite cover it.

Look – you can treat the People’s Vote march with as much derision as you please; that’s entirely your prerogative. Sure, the overwhelming majority of attendees likely did vote Remain, but they won’t be alone. A smaller yet no less significant demographic of regretful Leave voters, having borne witness to the rudderless shit-show that Brexit swiftly became, will also be joining the cause – and if “taking back control” really is important to you, I’d recommend you also join the party.

Unless that is, you’d rather listen to Boris Johnson bloviate endlessly about bog roll.

Your choice.