Let me tell you a tale. Shakespeare himself would be bewildered by the next twist in this story, but allow me trying to sing it off. Well, kind of.
The story in itself (The Brexit affair) reminds me of one of the best psycho-dramas of all times. It has a beginning (well, kind of, and I will elaborate on it in the next paragraph), a disturbance of equilibrium (like the rulings of numerous courts, and lengthy negotiations), several mises en scenes, as well as dramatic changes of characters (from Cameron to May, from Hammond to Johnson, and from Farage being very British, to aiming at becoming American). We all know the narrative as well. The end, however, and not very subtly, is totally unclear (it’s a Disaster!), reminding me of that song ‘Are we Nearly there Yet’ that somehow all children end up singing at their Christmas play, in the UK. And this is why, in my humble opinion, it fits more the genre of psycho-drama, rather than tragedy-comedy, but Shakespeare might disagree.
The beginning can be traced right back to when the EU was created, but I will skip the history part and go to my personal ‘affair’ with Brexit. Unlike most of my friends who woke up on the 24th of June with the impression that they had a ‘bad trip’, I, in all honesty, was sitting with a smug face, while drinking my coffee and reading the Guardian, processing the news that the UK voted out. My inner satisfaction wasn’t due to the result (I had an emotional outbreak later that day and fell out with half of my Facebook friends) but because I won a family argument. In the month of May, we all travelled to Dover by car (I lived in the beautiful city of Sheffield then), which is something like five hours from Sheffield, and as any other family, we broke into an argument two hours into the drive.
The fallout was around Brexit. We are all Europeans in my family, and as it happens, all academics and so, my mum and my step-dad were telling me that ‘they will vote to remain, because they are not stupid! Just wait and see!’ I, however, was telling the opposite, ‘THEY WILL VOTE OUT’. You see, I did travel to work by train to Leeds, and it didn’t take me too long to conclude that people in the North would simply vote out as a vote against the establishment. It is not the same as ‘Winter is Coming’ from Games of Thrones, but it isn’t that far off. Just visit Doncaster.
So, on that historic morning of the 24th of June, I called my mum.
“Ha-ha-ha, so who is the smartest, the cleverest, the most insightful in the family, ah????”
I have to admit that my mum is better at maths.
In the next week or so though, I, obviously, started to become quite concerned. Would I, like, be deported from the country? Would they separate us from our cat, who is British and was born here, while I wasn’t? How to stay in the country which I deeply love but which suddenly became rather hostile? Not towards me, personally, but to foreigners in general?
I was upset until it struck me that people in the government don’t have a fucking clue about what to do next themselves. Despite May’s reassurance to Beware the Ides of March 2017, no one had an idea (neither the UK or the EU) what to do next. The Brexit as such, is not a question of to be or not to be, it has already happened, but how it will end, this only God does know. The UK is Europe, and Europe can’t do without the UK. I order my best grape vape directly from Sheffield.