Common Sense about Brexit

The UK economy is the world’s sixth least for now until it’s the size of Wales like so much else I can’t think of. It dangles by a thread. Because of Brexit, we’re sleepwalking towards the grandmother of all crises. Aren’t we?

Most of the population looks likely to leave the country on Brexit day when it comes around next year. There will be no one to look after us. The average age of the residual population will shoot up to 87 creating a statistical singularity which will overwhelm the ONS.

The emotionally 87 years old who voted for Brexit should be pleased with this. Although they don’t know how to look after themselves after 40 years of EU rule, now is the time all of us learnt how to do without adult social care imported from overseas. Independent living.

Our roads could well stop working because the majority of cars on our roads come from Germany and won’t run on UK tarmac once we leave. And most of the tarmac comes from Rotterdam anyway where it’s stockpiled before being distributed according to a precise formula agreed at Maastricht. That will no long apply with obvious consequences as we fall out of the Tarmac & Road Surface Treaty. Have you heard anyone mention this?

And if there’s a hard Brexit, WTO rules will make walking dangerous like it is in America where pedestrians are a permanent danger to cars. Our civil servants don’t know how to deal with this sort of stuff anymore. A whole generation of them lacks the experience and know-how since the Ministry of Silly Walks was abolished 40 years ago. No thought has been given to this.

Breathing could become impractical unless David Davis gets an extended transition arrangement to prevent EU rules kicking in automatically with consequential collapse of air-quality standards that will render all air-imports illegal at a stroke. Expect long queues everywhere as people search for air. Quite like the Seventies if you were alive then when the ordinary person could only take a very limited amount of air in and out of the country, and queuing was a national pastime.

War between England, Scotland and Wales is possible because passporting rights will be reshored to Brussels along with all the good businesses operating here including Pret a Manger.

Racism will affect all our watercourses almost overnight with the worst flooding around Hinckley Point in Somerset. Literally no-one has thought about this.  

Fresh rocket in supermarkets will be typical of a lot of our foodstuffs post-Brexit. Availability will fall to World War II levels - and very quickly - which is what the Brexiteers wanted, damn them. The Remain side should have campaigned much harder on this sort of issue. It might have worked.

Divergence is like a fork in the road. Carry on for a decent stab at social democracy or sharp right for Gove, Johnson and Williamson

Weather will be affected becoming much more parochial and location sensitive.  All that guff about global Britain won’t be matched by the weather which is bound to take a distinctly nationalistic turn for the worse. After years and years of soft southerlies from Continental Europe, it’ll suddenly be back to stormy Westerlies coming in off the Atlantic. Expect rain.

All this and more comes under the heading of ambitious managed divergence.

Divergence is like a fork in the road. Carry on for a decent stab at social democracy or sharp right for Gove, Johnson and Williamson. 

But it will be managed so you’ll hardly notice the crappy road surface and encroaching darkness.

Ambitious? Finding out where the hell we’re headed. Yes, very ambitious.

Follow Theresa May. She’s the Joan d’Arc of Toryland (the UK) sent to reclaim sovereignty from the EU.  Malign cartoonists liken her to a ghost after losing her parliamentary majority in the Spring last year but they’re only lost in coils of supercilious mockery.  

For real Brits, she represents sensible, pragmatic virtues of Anglo-Saxon life. Low heels. Husband in banking. Countrified. At the head of a pack of yapping beagles at her Chequers country retreat.  Coherent government policy on Brexit is the fox and its stuffed now.


The EU’s chief negotiator Michel Barnier is a hunt saboteur: reminding the men and women on horses, wearing peculiar, feudal clothing, that what they want is illegal. Get out of the way, they cry. The horns blare. The ladies in the manor get the cake ready.  

Maybe there really is no hope. As Uncle Monty declares in the classic 1980s bromance film Withnail & I: “The older order changeth giving way to the new and God fulfils himself in many ways. My boys, we are at the end of an age. We live in a land of weather forecasts and breakfasts that set in. Shat on by Tories, shovelled up by Labour.”

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