Friday, Bloody Friday

I have always had a plan for this blog: Sunday is dark, experimental and odd; Saturday is all about food and drink and travel and fun; Friday is all about culture: TV, film, art, music, anything we all have in common in our lives. I’m having trouble keeping to my plans, and it is becoming an issue.

I have always had problems keeping Saturday blogs filled: it was originally meant to be just about travel, and I ran out of places I have travelled to after a few months of writing, and it seemed very wrong to make stuff up. So I added in food and drink, and I had plenty to talk to you all about.

Sunday is a different thing. I am a deeply gloomy person, so thinking of dark things is never much of a problem. The problem arose when I started to replace darkness with silly stories, in order to scratch that itch. It worked for a while, until I junked it, and now I do it every so often, when I like.

Friday is the big issue right now. Whenever I put pen to paper for a Friday blog it comes out like a Sunday. I reject it, I rebel against it, I justify it to myself by widening the categories, but I am at a loss. Instead, I am just going to look it in the eye and tell you all all about it. It’ll make a nice change.

Fucking Brexit. Fucking fucking fucking Brexit. It is a pain in the fucking arse, and an all-consuming hole in the fabric of reality, in to which all of the joy has been relentlessly sucked until all that remains is fucking Brexit and fucking Brexit, and the whole meaningless fucking charade of fucking Brexit. Will we have a general election? Could Boris Johnson, Jacob Rees-Mogg and Jeremy FUCKING Corbyn be any more a bunch of useless fucking shit-bags? Will the wreckers win the fucking day?

And no one knows the answer. I have a contact on my Facebook stream who is fucking convinced with every fibre of his being that a no deal Brexit is the best and most beautiful outcome for this country, and regards anything other than immediate and complete and utter cliff edge as betrayal.

All certainty is a lie at this point. We have a Prime Minister who is in the most appalling situation it is possible to conceive, yet who is also unwilling / unable to compromise on any level. It leaves the whole of the UK in a fucking difficult position: We are sick and tired of all of this, and we are utterly bored of all of our arcane procedures, but we cannot just bin it all off and have a rest. Ever again.

The vote was so close. Just pathetically close. And that – it is suggested “Logically” – means that a Soft Brexit, with closer cooperation with the EU was meant to be in order. Only, this is Brexit, and all truth and honesty is alien to us. Only shouting loudly in the face of a loved one is acceptable now.

And the problem is that I do see the point of a lot of the Brexiteer camp: If the vote had gone the other way, we would have not left, and not thought one more thing about any of it. The Remain camp and their incessant mewling for another referendum from day one have meant that such a thing will / can never happen, lest it appear like an attempt to rewrite history. Which is a shame.

In the run up to the vote we were told so many things that it is now impossible to quite remember which ones influenced our own individual decisions. However, if I hear one more no deal Brexit advocate telling me that “Leave means leave” and that we all knew that we were voting for the same cliff edge departure that they worship in their deluded fucking wank fantasies I will garrotte the bastard and spend the next few decades safely locked up, away from this quagmire of delusion.

I was so happy to see so many people signing the petition to revoke Article 50. I signed it when it was at around 600,000, and encouraged my friends and family to do so too. It was not – for me, at least – about actually revoking the Article, nor about having a debate in Parliament about it.

It was about a different hue to the narrative. For too many months all I had heard being expressed about Brexit was the same narrow ret-conned argument that anything other than an immediate no deal Brexit on March the 29th would be a betrayal of the will of democracy. The petition was a statement that there were other voices in the UK. They weren’t going to crowd out the Brexiteers – that’s not the consequence of an opposing view – they were needed to be heard alongside them.

Brexit has become too big a rift in this country: violence and intolerance is on the rise, due to the febrile nature of public discourse; uncertainty is putting the brakes on British trade and industry, domestically and internationally. The only upsides are the potential complete destruction of political parties and the fact that we are all discussing something other than fucking Love Island now.

And I think all of that is why I am having trouble keeping it light and fluffy for a Friday evening. I am just so apocalyptically angry all the time. I think the fact that so many of the country – far far far beyond the 17.4 million who voted for it – have come on board with the notion of Brexit shows that we have made a compromise. We just want a compromise which won’t ruin our country’s finances.

Look, I’m not saying that a no deal Brexit will definitely fuck us up, but it could. Like I’ve said, anyone offering facts about Brexit is a liar. However, not having a no deal Brexit won’t fuck us up. I’d rather place a bet on “definitely won’t fuck us up” than “could fuck us up”. Call me old fashioned like that.

My favourite way out of the impasse would be to ask the EU for a huge extension – say three years – in which to have a cooling off period, European and General elections, and start it all again: All new negotiating team, no red lines, and cross-party composition. I do know that I am essentially in cloud-cuckoo land, but nothing can be harmed by having a cup of tea and a think about it, without a loud clock ticking in our ears. It’s like deciding what to have for dinner at tea time, with a child shouting.