If I was a Brexiteer this is what I’d be saying today:
“Brexit is a bit like a sudden widespread heavy snowfall across most of the country.
The doom-mongers speculate that there’ll be wholesale disruption to industry, to the movement of goods, to personal road, air and rail travel, to power supplies and to schools. They fear no one will be able to go anywhere without major delays and that efficient trading will be all but impossible.
In fact, in the longer term, the opposite will be true. When the snow does arrive, whilst there is often some disruption, the steadfast British spirit soon conquers all. We smile stoically, eat hearty soups, wrap up well, look after the older folk, whether they like it or not and come out the other side happier, closer to our neighbours, grateful for the opportunities to go sledging with our children, to work from home for a day or two and with the prospect of a bright and sunny spring ever nearer. Furthermore, we will have met lots of new and interesting people, as we sought alternative ways of getting to work, and as we thumped our gloved hands together, remarking to complete strangers, “a bit parky today isn’t it?” Many of these erstwhile strangers will have become lifelong friends.
That’s Brexit in a nutshell. Don’t be fooled by those pessimistic Remoaners into thinking it’s going to be a disaster. It won’t, because we’re British, and whilst change is a bit scary, it’ll be like we’re colonising the world again when that Brexit spring arrives.”
If I was anti-Brexit, this is what I’d be saying today:
“Brexit is a bit like a sudden widespread heavy snowfall across much of the country.
Owing to an almost total lack of preparedness, there’s a sudden and inexplicable lack of salt and all the roads are impassable, even in Islington, almost as if they’d put a hard border between it and Haringey.
Network Rail bosses, who used to take their winter breaks in the Canaries now go to the Caribbean and can’t be contacted. As a result, no trains run, because there’s nobody to authorise the overtime required to clear the snow. All the schools are closed since UK Health and Safety rules now say the playgrounds aren’t safe. Thousands of children spend their days shoplifting in Westfield Centres, and retail sector profits tumble accordingly.
There’s complete chaos at the airports, because most flights are grounded as soon as they get word of a snow flurry 20 miles away. The queues of disgruntled passengers stretch for miles, and none of them thought to bring a flask, which are banned anyway under anti-terrorism laws, unless they’re the size of thimbles.
Old people, who sit under a blanket watching Countdown while waiting to die, smile mischievously at the chaos outside. Not having sledged since sliding down the street on a tray in 1958, they gain no benefit whatsoever from the snow, but they’re not bothered, as until it started snowing no one paid them any attention and now they’re practically running things.
That’s Britain after Brexit. You think the beast from the east is bad? Try eating a £5 croissant with gloves on.”
