The not-so final word

The not-so final word

OOPS. That’s gonna leave a mark.

That darned referendum has a lot to answer for. You know the one we gave little more than a passing fancy not even a year ago, offered lip service to but which nobody was meant to take seriously as anything other than political balderdash?? Seems a few of us missed the memo.

PEOPLE.  WHAT THE?? You don’t cash in your bargaining chip. You hold onto it, leverage it, wield it like the SNP. (Nevermind the politics Sturgeon, love your style. Totally brill. Can we have you down here?) Bygones. Forevermore (well, the next few months anyway) across Zones 1 and 2 the air will stir with the low hum of London luvvies comparing planning applications and square footage of their soon-to-be compounds in the Dordogne. Cheers for that. We now face weeks, months, years of apocalyptic prophesying by a not-so-few europhiles intent on lecturing sad Britain for its hubris; forecasting doom and gloom for generations to come thanks to the thoughtless actions of those small-minded, ill-informed, dim-witted dolts outside the M25 daring to break from the bleak bondage of Brussels. Ok, sure, from where we sit now looks like they may well be right. But time will be the judge of that– not them or me.

Mine is not to analyse the economic, social and political repercussions as they ripple across the globe– there are plenty of experts far more qualified to handle that. BUT… big, ugly hypocritical BUT.  Is it so wrong of me to suggest we employ just a modicum of perspective here?? I get it. I do. We’re wading into unknown political, economic and social waters; it’s uncomfortable, unnerving and not a little frightening. We fear the unknown, and this is a whole truckload of it. But this war of words across the social-media stratosphere is self-indulgent hyperbole and counter productive.

In the spirit of full disclosure I was on the fence walking into the ballot box, with only the impassioned plea of my 6yr old son ringing in my ear, who argued his case to remain with more considered reason and articulation than any politician managed in months. This, and being a homeowner with a pension replete with UK bank shares swung the pendulum. I have that luxury. (I can hear the sweet hum of baby violins tuning now.) Many others don’t. Mine wasn’t a ringing endorsement for the EU, but rather the status quo.  There’s little worthy in this and I won’t pretend otherwise. I’m far more concerned with the current power vacuum and social divisions exposed (and ok, the Halifax house price index) than leaving an undemocratic, unwieldy and unaccountable bureaucratic leviathan that, to my mind, had outgrown it’s noble intentions of economic cooperation long ago. In truth there’s a certain respect I hold for those who possess the courage of their convictions. Yet to listen to some, conceding so must make me a knuckle-dragging, xenophobic neanderthal.

C’mon. Really?? Nice try. (As an economic migrant myself I understand the desire to seek a better life in a new country.)

So there. The vote is in. It’s not ideal and downright regrettable for many. I understand that. I too worry for my children’s future. I’m a parent; that’s my job and has little to do with the EU. Call me a cock-eyed optimist but I think when the dust settles we’ll find the world will keep spinning and we may just be the better for it. Imagine that. Either way, the self-important bullying on both sides needs to stop. Now is not the time for recriminations, re-calls or re-referendums, but to figure out how we move on from here. And we will. We’re Great Britain. Well, for now anyway.


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