One of the problems about writing about Brexit is the risk of running out of synonyms for crapocalypse, armaggodforsaken, galactofuck, crapastrophe, shitaclysm, chaotaclysm, debastardacle, disastacre. But having considered the alternatives, there is no better and more evocative description of the utter idiocy and stupidty of Brexit, and Theresa May’s handling of it, than to say, quite simply, that the entire thing is a total rossthomson. It’s smug, it’s delusional, it has an inordinately high opinion of itself. And it’s completely useless.
Brexit has become a synonym for fuckuppery all of its own now. It is what yer maw would say to you when she discovers that you’ve come home shitfaced from a night on the town, you’ve attempted to do a dump in the toilet, but you missed and ended up doing it in the bath. In an overly confident attempt to show off your dance moves you tripped over the living room rug, plunged into the TV and smashed it, taking down the venetian blinds and yer maw’s much loved collection of Lladro figurines that she bought when she was on holiday in Malaga. Then you set fire to the net curtains when you attempted to open the window so you could smoke a joint without making the house smell like an Amsterdam coffee shop. You left the cooker a smoking ruined wreck when you were trying to make yourself some toast and cheese, which you gave to the dog and now the dog’s got diarrhoea.
As yer maw rouses you from lying face down in a drying pool of your own vomit with a crumpled spliff still clinging to your lips and a large and suspicious stain all over the crotch of your trousers, she would say, “Son, you’ve nearly brexited the hoose, ya dirty wee shite.” She’d say nearly, because in order to properly brexit the hoose you’d have had to undermine the foundations, knock down a load bearing wall, and remove the lintels from the doorways. Thankfully you were too pissed to manage that. Sadly, and very scarily for the rest of us, the rossthomsons of the British government are entirely sober.
Members of the British government have spent so much time and energy arguing amongst themselves about Brexit that they seem to have overlooked the fact that it’s not other members of the Tory party that they need to reach a deal with, it’s the rest of the EU. While the Conservatives are arguing about various Brexit propositions that the EU has already rejected, the rest of the EU is losing what little patience it has left. The British government is still nowhere near close to putting a realistic deal on the table. A no-deal Brexit is becoming a very likely prospect. The debacle of the Suez campaign of 1956 was described as the greatest national humiliation experienced by the UK since the end of WW2. Brexit is shaping up to be Suez with its pants down, an English rose shoved up its arse, and a tattoo of Jacob Rees Mogg on its right butt cheek.
The rossthomsons are saying that a no deal Brexit is better than a bad deal, which is rather like saying that when you’re falling from a great height no parachute and a concrete floor is better than a partially opened parachute and a snowdrift. Because the British media still gives airtime and column inches to representatives of the British government for reasons other than pointing at them and laughing hysterically, most of the public in the UK still haven’t realised just how rossthomsonish a no deal Brexit could be.
Medicines and processed foods will have to be stockpiled to ensure that they don’t run out after a couple of days. Imports and exports would all but cease and there will be queues of lorries at Channel ports that will make even women festival goers lined up outside a lavatory say to themselves, “Well at least I’m not waiting in that line.” The government is making plans to float generators off the coasts of Northern Ireland to make sure that the light don’t go out. Although there are those who would say that living by candlelight would make the DUP quite happy because they think that they’re in the 18th century anyway. Planes wouldn’t be able to fly to Europe. Nuclear reactors would run out of fuel. Millions, not mere thousands, of jobs could be at risk. All this is just scratching the surface. A no deal Brexit would make the empty supermarket shelves and the hoarding of essentials that the UK witnessed in the 70s seem like a lottery win. And do you know who would sail through this crisis with their personal lives, their jobs, and their finances intact? The rossthomsons, that’s who.
While all this is potentially looming, our government has decided that it’s best for it to bugger off on holiday, because that’s the only way for Theresa May to keep her job and stop her rebellious backbench rossthomsons from plotting to remove her. They don’t want to do the work to ensure that the national interests are taken care of, the only thing that they’re interested in are their own interests. Let’s face it, Conservative backbenchers are the real threat to Theresa May. It sure as hell isn’t the Labour opposition. Confronted with a government in meltdown, the worst of all possible outcomes for Brexit, and the very real prospect of a national disaster and humiliation, Jeremy Corbyn still wasn’t able to make any real dent in Theresa May’s robotic front at PMQs. Even if there were a general election and Labour managed to become the largest party, nothing much would be solved. They’re as clueless and as divided on Brexit as the Tories are. We are witnessing the absolute failure of British politics.
The truly alarming thing here is that for all that we’re in the middle of an utter rossthomson, the actual Ross Thomson is not uniquely idiotic or uniquely incompetent. In all his arrogant idiocy he is in fact a perfectly average Tory MP. We are being brexited by Ross Thomsons. And if that doesn’t make you realise just how screwed the UK is, probably nothing will. We need to get out of this mess, and it ought to be obvious by now that there is only one way out, that’s with Scottish independence. Let’s take the lifeboat.
I’m having a few days off. The other half is visiting from the USA and we’re going to Skye to get away from the craziness. Back at the end of next week.
WEE GINGER FUNDRAISER
It’s that time of year again. It’s been a year since I last did a fundraiser. This year is going to be a particularly expensive one for me personally. There’s a wedding to pay for, and I need to ensure that my earnings are sufficient to prove to the Home Office that I am able to import my American spouse into Scotland to live here permanently. As well as the need to demonstrate a minimum level of annual income, £18,600, there are also hefty legal and visa fees to pay.
I really don’t like doing fundraisers, and I really don’t like to blow my own trumpet, but I work my wee socks off for the independence movement. I publish this blog, and I do talks to local indy groups all over Scotland without asking for a fee. Don’t get me wrong, I greatly enjoy it. It’s a huge privilege to meet all the wonderful, talented, and committed people who make the Scottish independence movement something really special. However it takes up a lot of time and energy to keep blogging and doing public talks, time and energy that I could be using to generate an income to prove to the Home Office that I am able to support my American spouse.
The truth is that if every regular reader of this blog gave just one pound a year, I’d be pulling in well over £100,000 annually. Unfortunately it doesn’t work like that. Publishing and selling books and maps helps, as does selling t-shirts, but it’s pretty hit and miss. I do get paid by The National for my twice weekly articles, but that doesn’t pay anything like as much as you might think it would. In order to be confident that I can meet the minimum income requirements demanded by the Home Office, cover the cost of a wedding on both sides of the Atlantic, and cover the fees required to pay the visas and associated legal costs, I need to do a fundraiser for £10,000.
Any help you can give would be immensely appreciated. Help me to keep campaiging, and help me to show that Scotland is a welcoming place for migrants – at least one special migrant in particular, the man I’m going to marry in October.
You can donate by clicking the following link and donating on my Gofundme page.
Alternatively you can donate by clicking on the Paypal “Donate” button on this page, or by logging in to www.paypal.com and making a payment to me at firstname.lastname@example.org If you would prefer to donate by some other method, cash, cheque, or bank transfer, please contact me at email@example.com for details.
Many thanks for all your support. You’ve no idea how much it means to me.
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If you have trouble using the button, or you prefer not to use Paypal, you can donate or purchase a t-shirt or map by making a payment directly into my bank account, or by sending a cheque or postal order. If you’d like to donate by one of these methods, please email me at email@example.com and I will send the necessary information. Please also use this email address if you would like the dug and me to come along to your local group for a talk.