Settle Down

We all expected Project Fear. We all expected the Remainders to embark on discrediting the character of any high profile supporters of Brexit. But I’m not sure we expected the desperate levels of depravity to which they have sunk. Plagues of boils, being overrun with African migrants from the jungle (in Calais), destitute, friendless and isolated; there is a gleeful apocalyptic pessimism behind every Remain prediction of doom for an independent Britain. Tory MPs in particular have clearly been ‘persuaded’ to abandon long-held convictions – perhaps they have been threatened with some new convictions?

The thing about the Remainders is they think it’s all over. For Britain. They think that a thousand years of history, of exploring and bestriding the globe, must be put firmly in the past and that we must settle for a common future in the European Union. They are behaving like old men finally accepting defeat and living out their years in the retirement home, staring at the fading wallpaper and forgetting about what they once were as they sip their tepid, greasy soup and gum their thin white bread into edible submission

That word, settle. Settling is what you do when you trade freedom and ‘settle down’ into a more mundane life, from which even the smallest adventures of the past look more glorious. It’s what you do when you think you’ve exhausted the optimism of the single life and imagine that together you’ll be better. For both sides, settling often means lowering your sights and putting aside what might have been. Settling implies an acceptance of less; the very word, settle, is loaded with compromise.

Settle comes from an Old English word meaning ‘to sit’. Sit down, know your place, stop fidgeting, be content with your lot, settle down... behave. It implies the end of joy and the onset of mundanity and in the case of settling for the EU, it is loaded with the same foreboding that marriage holds for men. There is, of course, the prospect of the settlement reached in divorce. It may be messy, we may come off worse, financially, but it’s better than settling down and waiting for the end, having your decisions made for you as if you weren’t competent... or even there in the room.

Settle down. Soon you will be at peace...

Remaining in the loveless marriage that is the EU is settling for less than we could be. It is giving up; giving up on our future, giving up on our past and the longer we stay, the less individual we become. The EU is the end of Britannia, indeed it is one of the very aims of federation. Voting to remain is voting for our wings to be clipped and for future generations to be taught to fear flying.

David Cameron’s campaign is based on his supposed settlement with our EU overlords. It’s a crock and I’m just not ready to settle; it feels too much like approaching death. So, “Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” And to the EU say, "Settle off!"

The Mysterious West

Another day older and the migrant fiasco in Europe deepens still further as Greece tries to work out how it can both refuse to cooperate and still be Merkel’s pet, alternately begging for treats and cowering under the whip. Meanwhile the steady stream of wretched refugees, indistinguishable from those who wish us harm and those who would rob us blind will become a spring flood of new, eager blood until the sheer weight of numbers will make the border defences of EU perimeter countries irrelevant without resorting to fatal force.

They flee all they have known but what for? Donald Tusk has been telling them not to bother, that they are being preyed upon by traffickers and that the streets of Europe are not lined with gold, but mere words are poor tools to shovel aside the heaps and heaps of bullshit they have been fed. Yet isn’t it genuinely the case that Europe is simply better than their own countries for so many reasons? islam is a primitive, oppressive and regressive system that subjugates half the population and keeps the other half in ignorance and savagery.

Escaping to the west though is only half the battle. Once here, by hook or by crook, they need to find ways to survive in our very different society. To that end a muslim mother was trying to explain to her children how things worked in the world they were going to. She explained about equality and how everybody was afforded the same rights regardless of their beliefs and the way they dressed and who they associated with. The older children listened in amazement.

“What is capitalism?” asked one, to which the mother replied “Capitalism is how the people in the west make money.” “Don’t they just sell the oil that bubbles out of the ground?” asked the boy? “No, my son, they have ideas and dreams, they work hard and build companies and employ people who earn money and buy things so more things need to be made and more people need to work to earn the money to buy the things. In this way, western societies become rich in ideas as well as money.”

“But what is this ‘democracy’ that they talk about?” The mother went on “Democracy is where the people get to decide who is charge.” “Not the ayatollahs? Not allah?” gasped the boy, incredulously. “No” said the mother “the people have one vote each and they get to decide by casting their vote. The ones who get the most votes run the country and control everything – the law, the military, the police, the hospitals, the schools... and society in general. It is all run by democratic consent.”

“So what is this socialism that we hear so much about?” The mother felt a little tear of joy prick her eye as she went on to explain. “Well, this is the reason we are going there” she said “Under socialism the taxpayers go out to work hard every day and then they pay taxes from what they earn. This tax then goes to pay our benefits, so that we can get free housing, free healthcare and grants to build our mosques and community centres, all without having to get jobs and pay tax ourselves. It is a marvellous system!”

The eldest thought for a while and wondered about all the equality and capitalism and democracy and socialism of the west. Eventually he asked "But mother, don't the hard workers, the tax payers get angry about that?" The mother did not hesitate but replied in a steady voice, “Yes they do, son, and that is what we call racism.”

Finger Pointing

The wagging finger wags and having wagged, wags on. Listening to the arguments being stacked up on either side it seems clear to me that not only are the Remainders and the Brexiteers overstating their cases – the latest reports from government and their stooges show doom and disaster on the outside and Iain Duncan Smith has already called one such report a dodgy dossier – they are also preparing their defences for after the fact.

Whatever happens, in or out, for many years, possibly generations to come, the losing side will seize on any negative outcomes as a direct result of the decision. If we stay in then every single EU ‘ever closer union’ announcement, law, edict, etc will be pointed at and the tutting and the “I-told-you-so”s will ring around the choir. The Brexit crowd (I’m one of them) will not be swayed; the EU should have nothing to do with Britain apart from being friends and allies and should we stay in the hated project (sadly, still the most likely conclusion of the referendum process) we are not going to go quietly. Little other than an all-out revolution will satisfy us after a ‘remain’ vote.

If – please, please, please – we leave, then every bank failure, company relocation, currency instability, increased cost of living, etc will be immediately branded as being all down to our departure. Brexit will be the whipping boy for every government fuck up for years. Climate change? Brexit’s fault. Price of oil? Brexit. Nuclear war? Brexit. In fact the otherwise sober UK government is embarked on promulgating such an apocalyptic fantasy of post-Brexit decline that even ten-year olds will be insufficiently gullible to swallow it.

As each side seeks to find chinks in the other side’s arguments – Stuart Rose’s gaffes have been absolute gifts - It’s clear to me that nothing is clear to anybody and the quantitative arguments for in or out are nebulous, unsubstantiable and frankly irrelevant. Each side will vote in its own self-interest although, from my admittedly partisan view it seems that the balance of altruism is firmly with the Leave camp as evidenced by the sniping, doom-laden and personally insulting attacks of the massively pro-EU biased, big-state-dependent parts of the United Kingdom. (Yes Scotland, I’m looking at you.)

I'm talking to YOU!

So forget the numbers game, there is little enlightenment to be found in the figures of either side and few verifiable facts will be deployed. Instead, embrace the emotional and vote with your heart. If you love the thought of being European, by nationality and by inclination then vote to become an ever closer part of that proto-nation. But if you feel even a little bit British and especially if you identify as English there can only be one direction of travel in relation to the EU – hard astern. Let’s back out of that cul-de-sac as fast as we can, blame our unfortunate wrong turn and subsequent 40-year dissatisfaction on a dodgy satnav and get back on the right road.

The return of the Mummy

Manfred Bajorat died doing what he wanted to do. Lucky bastard. His ‘mummified’ remains were found in his yacht, drifting off the Philippines, time of death unknown. Some thought it gruesome to show the pictures but, hey, it comes to us all. And far better that than the living death many will experience through debilitating illnesses, loneliness, cold and the many savage cruelties which mankind inflicts on man. In the old joke the comic asks why married men usually die before their wives; the punchline is ‘because they want to’.

Of course, comedians know and fear the death they hope not to have to experience, ‘dying’ on stage before an indifferent audience. I once saw a famous comedian appear two days in a row at a major summer festival. On the first day he smashed it; the crowd helpless with laughter, rolling about on the grass. On the second he stood in for an act which belatedly pulled out and struggled manfully on against a sea of hostile faces for about five minutes before walking off, presumably to heavily hit the bottle.

Death isn’t always cruel though. For many, following a long illness, death comes as an end to suffering and a release for all those caught up in the drama. Then there is ‘la petite mort’ which, in its modern translation is generally also a welcome release. And of course the deaths of many political careers are seen as occasions for national celebration. Who hasn’t cackled at the departure of major figures brought low? Of course one person’s deposed tyrant is another’s political hero, but I imagine the forthcoming lemming leap will be delicious for all to see.

One side will win and the other will lose and in the days following the referendum many heads are going to roll. It might seem unnecessarily vicious to lose around 50% of the major players to political oblivion just for taking the wrong side but it has always been the case that the losers are expected to fall on their swords. Big beasts will retire from the fray and some upcoming young Turks will see their careers cut short for backing the wrong horse. It matters not that the majority of the public will be utterly unaware and unmoved should they bother to look up from their shuffling about, but for those interested in such things the smell of schadenfreude will hang heavy in the air.

The Marie Celeste - a portrait of Westminster?

Look on the bright side, though. Firstly, they ‘died’ doing what they loved, what’s to mourn? Secondly, forget the issues of in or out, dirty tricks campaigns, political manoeuvrings and back bench shenanigans; there could well be a winner overall – politics itself. This might just be an occasion for a grand clear out of the tired old faces, ushering in an influence of fresh young bloods with hope in their hearts and British interests to the fore. Or is that just wishful thinking?

Gizza job?

There is a bit of a buzz about the Blairs at the moment, with the Daily Mail printing a series of articles about the reviled couple’s money-making enterprises post Number Ten. It’s not comfortable reading. There’s the government pension, of course, enough in itself for the average person to feel they’d hit the jackpot. But that’s peanuts compared to the suspiciously astute property deals, the huge fees for private speaking, seats on managing boards and  ludicrous but well-remunerated roles such as ‘Middle East Peace Envoy’ which paid him handsomely without there ever being any delivery of the promised peace.

Yes, it’s the Daily Mail – hardly friends of Blair – but it’s not the person it’s the principle; how do otherwise average achievers reach exalted positions? It’s like a re-imagined version of the Peter Principle, whereby dullards reach and remain in jobs at which they are incompetent. The phrase ‘promoted out of trouble’ has long been used to describe the inexplicable rise of the clumsy, the inept and the downright embarrassing who, on screwing up a position are promoted rather than being fired. But for most people it tends to stop there: The boss’s son is given a cushy back seat job on higher pay but out of sight. The high-flying fuck up is gently placed on a path to a lucrative pension; no heavy lifting involved.

But every other day the newspapers seem to have stories about people being sacked from ridiculously well-paid jobs for levels of incompetence that beggar belief. And then being paid hefty sums to stop them from telling tales to honour pre-engagement ‘early release’ clauses. Some people manage to go from being sacked from one high-profile job after another, apparently picking up their multiple-millions each time; enough for an average person to retire to the sun many times over. And they seem to do this with not one shred of shame or acceptance of blame. How many of us have musingly volunteered to take on one such job, fuck up and then disappear with a suitcase full of money?

The top of society is littered with grandiose failures; the men who spent £11billion on a computer system for the NHS, which never worked. The arms procurement programmes which also cost billions but likewise never get delivered. Massive, vainglorious reorganisations of government departments, disrupting lives, costing millions, but never being completed because administrations change. Bankers who bow out having bankrupted their companies in the pursuit of ‘shareholder confidence’. And in their wake, a trail of lawyers, accountants and asset-stripping parasites, all getting rich from ineptitude, while lowlier clients lose their livelihood.

How did I get here? Fuck knows.

Ambitious parents used to tell their children to set goals and work to achieve them. To decide what they wanted to do in life then work hard to become the very best they could. Have a game plan, keep your nose clean and keep on plugging away, son, you’ll get to the top if you deserve it and do the right thing. But work no longer pays that way, it seems. A conscientious parent should consider imbuing in their offspring that in fact it is crime which pays, ideally very public crime, with misuse of office and misappropriation of funds being the very pinnacle of success. In Boys From the Black Stuff, Yosser went round saying “Gizza job, I can do that!” Today he’d be saying “Ah go on, mister, give us the sack, eh?”