#Brexit, Four Days In The Life

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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.

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2 thoughts on “#Brexit, Four Days In The Life

  1. Like a massive game of pass-the-parcel where the loser left holding it has to invoke Article 50…

    (and the bizarre thing is, if you’d quoted that sentence to me this time last week, i’d have had no idea what you were on about!)

  2. My social media accounts had kept me in a reassuring bubble of complacency, not allowing me to consider that the nation was quite as stupid as it has proven to be.
    My escape is loud guitars and the headphones have had a thorough workout since Friday, helped no-end by the excellent online coverage of Glastonbury.
    Each day, the whole situation becomes more strange and confusing and the leadership-race sideshows only distracting from the reality of 52% of the country fucking up my daughter’s future…

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