#Brexit, Four Days In The Life


By ten past ten on the morning of the 24th June, I was being told by my contemporaries to shut up. I was watching the calamitous post-referendum Britain unfolding before my eyes, and was furious about what I was seeing. Besides calling the nation as a whole a few expletives, which I won’t repeat here, in my first Facebook post of that day, a 21st-century primeval roar of disappointment and anguish. I attacked no-one. Except Farage, but he’s fair game and, unlike him, I didn’t tell a lie. He is a c**t.

Since the moment I was told to shut up, my social media posting has been kept pretty much to a minimum. I’ve considered asking my wife to change my passwords, to prevent me from so much as casting an eye over Twitter and Facebook, but I decided not to. I thought she’d think I was just being silly and, besides anything else, I wasn’t quite sure I could appropriately articulate the reasons I wanted to mute myself. Frankly, social media has the capacity to boil my piss in frustration without much effort. It may even be an unrecognised and unharnessed form of alternative energy. Perhaps the 27th century scientists will take a look at that.

I intended to step away from Brexit, and all the confusion and uncertainty the nation now finds itself in and, I don’t know, find some peace with nature, the birds and the trees, and generally enjoying things again, or something. I’d spent months with the European Union at the forefront of my mind, and was ready to give it all up for a simple life. Perhaps on a houseboat, covered in diesel oil, wearing a smelly jacket, and never shaving again. However, being utterly terrified aside, British politics is about as exciting right now as it’s been in my entire life. It’s every car crash you’ve ever slowed down to look at, every YouTube clip, every disaster movie, all rolled into one. The fear has almost given way to fascination.

Friday morning was spectacular. David Cameron played a blinder. His political career was up overnight – to be fair, he’d already said he wasn’t to continue beyond his current term anyway – he’d lost, and yet he still came out a winner. He didn’t, and is not going to, invoke Article 50. I reckon it was actually Boris Johnson who told Ashcroft about that pig thing.


Boring, Boring EU Referendum


NB: This post was written over a period of days. It was meant to be a monologue about how difficult it is to promote a decision to not change anything when you’re promised the world. It morphed into something else entirely. However, it is exactly as written. Unedited. Not even a spellchecker has looked at it. Getting it out seems more important than endless fiddling.

We have two options. Vote to remain a part of the European Union, or vote to leave it, and go on our own.  The remain camp thinks that the leave camp are bonkers. The leave camp thinks the remain camp is similar.

In all honesty, both are correct and wrong at the same time. The EU is, by its very nature, a dry, stuffy, and undoubtedly complex organisation. It’s so complex that men and women can and have devoted their entire lives to studying its structure and economics. You can, and some have, a PhD in ‘Europe Stuff’. I don’t know these people personally, but they’re probably not the most exciting folk to go down the pub with on a Friday night. Although I may be wrong.

Our government, in conjunction with these Friday night killjoys, should be the ones making this decision. It’s beyond almost every single one of us. This is why we elect a government, or one of the reasons, anyway. To make the difficult decisions that are too complex or too dull or too unpopular for us to actually make a decision on. However, on this occasion, they have let us down badly.

Instead of a governmental decision, it’s down to us. And the referendum called by Cameron and his band of merry men is making a right fucking bollocks of everything. Friends and colleagues no longer enjoy each other’s company, preferring instead to shout, as loudly as they can, about why their contemporaries should follow their voting lead. Irrespective of great swathes of evidence to the contrary, people on both sides of the argument are vehemently extolling the virtues of their version of right and, quite revoltingly, condemning any alternative viewpoint without so much as a half-glance at it. Social media has become the exact opposite of that to which its name implies and, folk wishing to keep their friends are biting their tongues as much as frustration will permit.

The atmosphere has become toxic. Hysteria, fear, panic, and xenophobia no longer hide behind the polished veneer the nation usually tries so hard to display. The hatred and intolerances lying deep within far too many of us are no longer being kept in check, now to be thrown in people’s faces under the new guise of ‘evidence’. How foul, how devisive and duplicitous this referendum has become.

This referendum has become, for me, no longer just about whether or not the country remains allied to the European Union. It’s become an indicator of how little progress the country has made. Britain hardly deserves to be called Great.

Four Hours in A&E


I’ve never reblogged something before, but this says many things better than I have done. If I can edit the post after reblogging, I’ll put some photos in it for you. I know you like photos.

The Road Less Travelled

I was driving home last night when I heard on the Radio 4 evening news that one of the top stories was a failure of emergency departments in England over the last week to meet the fabled “four hour target”.

The four hour target, which was introduced by the Department of Health in 2003, states that 95% of people attending emergency departments in the UK should be seen within four hours.

Or that’s what I hear every time there’s a news item relating to this target, so let’s clear up a couple of things.

And the first thing is that the four hour target states that 95% of people attending emergency departments should be triaged and seen and treated and moved out of the department within four hours.

I’m not quibbling the rights or wrongs of the target; we could go round and round on that forever. It’s an arbitrary…

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