#24 POSTBREXITISM: NOTES FROM ANOTHER COUNTRY

The morning after the vote before. We woke up and something had changed. We felt different, almost as though we were in another country, though it was the same country showing a side of itself that we had somehow overlooked or downplayed. It was a shock to realise that a simple majority of our fellow citizens had fomented a kind of revolution, but not a progressive one, a reactionary, retrograde one. Because via the simple step of voting with their prejudices, they had catapulted us back to the 1950s. Really.

What was that like? Very conservative and conventional, still draped in the glory of victory in the War, but counting off the Empire as each country fought its way out from under the Mother Country’s skirts to breathe freely and be independent. Proud of being an island race, not about to cede any sovereignty to Johnny Foreigner in Europe who was virtually a different race. Concerned about ‘coloured’ immigration (sound familiar?) and so much before PC  (or antidiscrimination laws) that people felt free to put up notices in their lodging house windows saying ‘no dogs, no Irish, no blacks’. Race riots, incited by the extreme Right, in Nottingham and Notting Hill. The National Front of the day, was the League of Empire Loyalists, a ragout of the dregs of Mosley’s blackshirts, extreme Conservatives, and a fair proportion of psychopaths and frustrated fighters dying for a scrap. Did I mention 'extremely racist and explicitly anti-Semitic? ‘Twas ever to be thus. British people firmly believed at this time that we were innately superior to all other nations races and creeds. We had ruled the world, and we had been heroes and saved the world. Patriotism was both a sacred duty and a profoundly rooted superiority complex.

LEAVE played these melodies, and struck a resonant chord with the immigration issue. Yes, of course, that’s the problem, that’s why I haven’t got a house, am terrified of losing my job and can’t get a quick appointment with my doctor. Also why I am living in austerity and should go to the food bank, if I dare be seen. LEAVE painted a rosy picture of prosperity, and unlimited trade (not acknowledged by the potential partners), with literally no evidence to prove the case, a deal of misrepresentation and a paucity of expert support. A massive con, in other words, which will go into the textbooks under the chapter title: ‘Yes, you can fool half of the people all of the time.’

Very little has happened since The Vote, contrary to popular opinion.

Cameron resigned, honourably, without invoking Article 50 which would start the real leaving process. Smart move, giving him a dignified exit without having to carry the can through the shitstorm of the negotiations and consequences, and the the re-writing of half our laws to erase the word ‘Europe’ from them – estimated to take at least 5 years to get through Parliament. A immense task that will virtually sideline all other legislation. Remarkable that any Tory leadership contenders still wanted the job when this emerged - that they had been dumped on; in terms of their day-to-day work, personal reputation and charisma-damage, it’s become the worst job in the world, not the best. But the appetite for power is insatiable, so even before the end of Cameron’s maritime leaving speech the air was thick with their testosterone – and that’s just from the women: Teresa May and Sarah Vine, Gove’s wife (aka Lady Macbeth). Yes, there is turbulence, tumult and tumescence, the like of which we have never seen before because both sides are at it.

Gove set about accelerating the process by knifing BoJo, his recent ally but historic enemy, in the back and front simultaneously, as his wife cackled. The only surprising thing about this was that Boris didn’t just deflate like a punctured barrage balloon. If there’s one certainty in British politics, it’s that he’ll be back, whether Gove wins or not, a new leader would be wise to find a role for him within the cabinet where at least he is bound by some collective responsibility and discipline: the resentful maverick could cause havoc as a free agent. As LBJ memorably said (of the evil J. Edgar Hoover), ‘it’s better to have him inside the tent pissing out than outside pissing in’. At least BoJo will escape, for the time being, the humiliation of having his colourful private life laid bare (an appropriate phrase) and dominating the tabloids for weeks.

Who will be the next PM? 'Follow the money' and ask the bookies. They can be wrong, but you’re more likely to see one at a Mercedes showroom than a food bank.

Theresa May  1/3  (Odds on favourite)  She has boxed clever over Brexit, kept a low profile and was not too strongly identified with either side. She may be a healer or she may turn out to be a Thatcher though with less abrasiveness and testicular fortitude. I can see her getting sucked into the quicksand of Brexit implementation and resigning in a couple of years. Then Boris could jump in on whatever upcoming ticket appeared to be a vehicle, but which he had secretly supported for some time. Of course, if the economy is as bad as is predicted he may well have gone to hide in one of the many European countries he has blood relatives.

Andrea Leadsom  4/1.   Who? One to watch. Coming up fast on the outside, very ambitious and has already secured a promise of the Chancellor of the Exchequer’s role by another runner, if he wins. ‘Silent but deadly', as little boys call flatulence.

Michael Gove  His odds have crumbled from favourite to a 10/1 near outsider in 24 hours. It seems that people don’t like knife attacks on former allies, and character assassination through your wife’s column in the Daily Mail. Arguably Gove has been the most disliked politician since Mrs T, uniting against himself many Tories, the Labour Party, the entire teaching profession who he mauled, and those discriminating members of the public who recognised an obnoxious, self-aggrandising, reactionary little gobshite when they saw one. And when you consider his wife looks to be worse…and yet they put his name forward for a popularity contest. What a lovely, attractive couple and clearly made for each other.

Liam Föx  Delusions of grandeur, competence and popularity. Bring back blood sports in his area, he looks like he could do with the exercise.

Stephen Crabb:  Nasty ambitious upstart who alienated countless people when he claimed that ‘Homosexuality is a sickness, that can be cured’. Does he have some specialist knowledge on this? Decided not to attend Pride this year.

So Theresa May is the favourite, and you can see why, on the ‘least worst’ principle. It’s not definitive and you can be fairly sure that they will all jockey around as the spinners and dirt-diggers go to work.

Labour is in similar turmoil, arguably worse. I am going to maintain a discreet silence on that for now. I value my friends and we are as divided as the Labour Party right now, and the conflagration does not need petrol thrown on it. I would just like to remind us all of a few salient, indisputable facts which should be uppermost in our minds in the coming days:

Policies are wish-lists until there is the power to implement them: but it is the public’s appraisal of them, not the Party’s that gets the party into government.

This country has not elected a far left-leaning government since 1945.  Kinnock and Foot were humiliated at the ballot box. And if anything the national centre of gravity has moved further towards the Centre of politics. The Nationalists decimated Labour in Scotland, removing most of the basis for a Labour majority in Westminster – probably for good. As ever, power will depend on winning the floating voters in the middle of the spectrum. That will be near impossible if the Labour Party is divided or extreme (we never elect divided parties; the mass of British people shirk the extremes). We should be looking to build alliances and platforms with other groups – a coalition in advance, if you like, just for the numbers, - not squabbling over doctrine or personalities.

Easy to say, but unless there are some major realignments, however unpalatable they are to historic loyalties, we will see a Tory party rediscovering its survival instinct and born-to-rule conviction, ensconced in the tent, and none of the opposition parties strong enough to displace them: or even piss in the door.

"Come you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,
And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full
Of direct cruelty"

Lady Macbeth

This is almost embarrassing, but I’ve started so I’ll finish. I spent the afternoon getting my dog’s hair cut at the wonderful Maria Raymond’s salon in Mill Hill (‘Poochies’. Yes, I am on a percentage, but she really is wonderful). I passed the time doing a few DIY jobs for her, including one which required a spirit level.  An hour later I’m sitting in a hot car in rush-hour traffic, getting very dehydrated and seeing mirages of icy Evian bottles. Then it occurs to me that my spirit level contains three shots of liquid that might save my life, albeit high-vis, antifreeze coloured liquid, that could have the opposite effect. Good sense intervened when I realised that you wouldn’t swig on a lava lamp in the middle of the night, so why imbibe this.

My attention was seduced by the truck in front, which had an open back with loads of mowers in it. Not the Hendon and District Senior Mowers’ Club Summer beano to Clacton, but some garden maintenance firm. On the tailgate it had a pathetic logo and some humourless slogan like ‘we’ll do your garden’. It also listed all the things they could do like hedge-cutting, turf-laying and strimming. This is where it gets personal. This truck presented a challenge to me. Here was a truck with a slogan so literal you felt you must have missed some incredibly subtle joke, and a banal list of activities which basically all fell under the rubric ‘gardening’  and so added nothing to the slogan, itself almost redundant as it was just beneath the name of the company:  S&M Garden Services. All that painstaking signwriting when you could work it out from the mowers anyway. The challenge (and in my defence, as good a way as any of surviving NW London gridlock) was to come up with something better; the means was a play on words, inevitably. I hate it when hairdressers do it, but this was different.

So the association process started – both the joy and the bane of my life. The first one that popped up was STRIM OF CONSCIOUSNESS`; a little esoteric but quite good if the firm had been started up by hippies, philosophers or redundant psychoanalysts. Next came GRASSING YOU UP for the lawn-based activities, BORDER CONTROL, and PRIVET LIVES which speak for themselves. GNOMES’R’US, WE GIVE A FENCE, CRAZY PAVING IN REMISSION, ANTON DECK-BUILDERS, and FOUR WEEDINGS AND A BONFIRE would all be an improvement. Please don’t feel too sorry for me, it is an incurable disease but a manageable one.

Two souvenirs of The Party

THE SCREEN BY THE LAWN

Gifts were banned but Harry the Woman got under the radar with this. So appropriate and so characteristic of her - she never spends more than 50p on my presents, anyway.