It’s finally done, and we’re out – but I fear for our country
So that’s it! Britain has left the EU.
After the interminable debates in the media and the chambers of the Houses of Parliament; after the almost permanent protests on the pavement outside; after the endless posts on social media, the deed has been done and we’re out of the EU at last.
Well not quite. There’s still the little matter of a trade deal to be negotiated. Boris Johnson has promised that it will be complete before the end of the year. But Boris is notoriously imprecise when it comes to such matters. It might be the end of the year. It might be the end of the decade for all we know.
But, symbolically at least, we have passed a milestone and we are no longer in the EU.
Our MEPs are coming home. It’s the end of the gravy train for them. No more bottomless expense accounts. No more free lunches. No more European jollies in the City on the Marsh.
I can’t say that I’m all that excited. Although I voted to leave – for good, old fashioned socialist reasons (the EU is a rich man’s club) – I have no reason to celebrate the form that Brexit is now likely to take.
Already there are speculators placing bets on the collapse of British Industry. The privately-educated Toffs who run the country have their money tucked away in off-shore accounts. It’s fairly clear that their view of Brexit is that Britain should now become the money-laundering capital of the world, with the added benefit of a captive population of desperate labour ripe for exploitation.
I fear for my country, I really do.
Foodbanks are on the rise. Homelessness is on the rise. Inequality is on the rise. There are beggars in every town.
In the North the shops are boarded up and industry has long-since fled. There’s nothing left to do for the youth but to smoke skunk and inhale laughing gas.
Meanwhile London is in the midst of a property boom. Multi-billion pound complexes are springing up like lego-brick fortresses along the banks of the Thames, while the poor are being culled.
There’s an army of low-paid workers commuting in at dawn every day to do the menial tasks that keep the city alive.
The sky is full of cranes. Supercars squeal through the fashionable streets, with nowhere to race but from one traffic light to the next, with no other purpose than to show-off to the neighbours.
Saudi billionaires are digging beneath the foundations of suburban avenues in order to accommodate their home cinemas and indoor swimming pools.
Russian oligarchs are buying up football clubs and newspapers.
Our trade union rights are up for sale, our labour laws and consumer protections subject to future trade deals.
In place of the welfare state we will have lottery funding. In place of education we will have reality TV.
But at least we will have our country back.
From The Whitstable Gazette 09/01/20
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Reblogged this on Fierce Writing and commented:
Our MEPs are coming home. It’s the end of the gravy train
What dies we have our country back mean? I have just seen an Iranian consultant at the hospital.Perhaps he was born here.We never get anything back.We will just move in a different direction and it’s already really sick making seeing the poor going further down hill.I hope this world renowned plastic surgeon stays here
There’s always a rich man’s club.Maybe I am biased as reading Archangel by Robert Harris!
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