Yesterday I joined a conversation in which the subject of Brexit came up.
I promise you this was absolutely was none of my making.
It against a background in which Neil Kinnock has just castigated the Labour Party for its stance, or non-stance, on the issue and the House of Lords is doing its best to throw obstacles in the way of Brexit legislation.
Elsewhere a concerted Remainer campaign continues to shout from the rooftops at the slightest opportunity.
Our old friends and key members of the ‘useful idiot’ brigade – Lord Heseltine, Tony Blair and Ken Clarke – and all the other usual suspects are continuing their rear-guard action to thwart what some might regard as the will of the people.
Because they know better, of course.
As a Brexiteer myself – this far after the EU Referendum – the only thing that surprises me is that anyone is surprised by this state of affairs.
Frankly, I’m bored with everything to do with Brexit and amazed at the naivety of the vast bulk of people who seem to be bothered to one degree or another by all the issues and implications.
For the Western ‘establishment’ it has never been anything other than an inconvenient drag upon a nation’s efficiency and direction of travel.
And, let’s face it, the facts are inescapable.
For the past two hundred years, paying lip service to the notion that they are subservient to ‘the will of the people’, British politicians have climbed the slippery pole to power supposedly via General Election results at the ballot box (because those are the rules of our game).
By this logic, of course, there’s an assumption that human society and existence has certain inalienable truths underpinning it – and ‘if the other lot get it’ they’re going to mess up the country for the next five years (or whatever the period is until the next Election is scheduled to take place) in one of them.
Well, hang on. If you think about it, if that’s the case, then surely it is in the national interest not to let the ‘the other lot’ take power at all.
And similar ‘projects’ down through history. Like the Remainers in 2018, for instance.
Some of my Brexiteer pals rant on about how things might have been if the EU Referendum result had gone the other way – i.e. 51 to 49 (or whatever it was) in favour of staying in the EU.
Would the Remainers have tolerated the Leavers taking to the airwaves two years afterwards bemoaning the fact that the UK was still being dictated to by Brussels; that democracy and national self-interest counted for nothing; and then demanding that another Referendum should be run, say every two or three years … just to see if the result might be different?
No, of course they wouldn’t!
They’d have been forcefully telling the 49% who voted Leave to grow up, smell the coffee – and probably passing legislation to make it an offence to voice opposition of any kind towards the EU, its undemocratic decision-making processes, never mind every madcap new rule and regulation it ever introduced (because they’d been told to by whomever is going to be Jean-Claude Junker’s successor as head of the EU Commission – I think someone has been chosen – not elected, of course – but he’s so well-known and charismatic that his, or her, name escapes me).
And why would anyone consider such any of the above offensive, if it had ever came to pass?
It’s how the world is run and operates, folks. Wise up!
The driver was a late twenties-something Romanian chap who had just completed physical education degree and had arrived in this country a while back with his parents and an uncle and family, all intent upon making a life for themselves in the UK because – to put no fine a point on it – the Romanian economy was flat-lining and job opportunities (still less those to better oneself) in the country were few.
I was impressed. He wanted to get on in life, he wasn’t afraid of hard work – he was driving all the hours that God gives – and his eventual ambition was to find a job in football coaching or similar. Nothing would have been too much trouble for him. I’d got the address we were going to wrong – or to be specific, the address I’d been given for their office, but not their depot … and, when we got there, even their office was closed for lunch(!) … but my driver (now fellow team-mate) was exemplary in his efforts to get me where I was intended.
As you’d expect, I gave him a generous tip but, if it had been in my power I’d have also given him a promotion, British citizenship and a four-bedroomed house in Clapham.
He’s just the sort of chap we want in the UK.