Day 15. I Dreamed I Saw Phil Ochs Last Night. (15/1/19)

(Soundtrack: Phil Ochs' 'All The News That's Fit To Sing' because I've never heard it and Christ knows we need some protest at the moment)

We're in the waiting period at the moment. It's 6:50 and the news channels are showing the summing up. There's a vote at 7 and that vote, as you're all more than bloody aware, sets the tone for this country for generations to come.

In the way that we're still paying the cost for electing Thatcher in '79 (what? You think the train fares ripping us off aren't anything to do with her selling everything we owned to her mates? In the way Tories always bloody do, because the only defining interest they have is profit and their fellow man is worth nothing), what happens tonight will resonate through the lives of grandchildren we haven't yet considered. And probably their grandchildren.

Because Theresa May's Brexit deal is a joke. It's a bad solution to the most ridiculous question that's ever been asked. We have the thoroughly odious Jacob Rees Mogg lamenting the fact that 'nobody voted for a deal, they voted to leave': yes, because cartoon back benchers who've never achieved anything told the public that this would be the easiest negotiation in the history of politics and the future was glorious and rosy. It isn't, it wasn't, it was never going to be. The public voted after being mislead by lying bastards.

Gove.
Johnson.
Farage.

History will remember these men as self interested buffoons who sacrificed the future of a country for their own egos, career intentions and profit margins and were too cowardly to stand and watch what they created unfold.

Cameron. We'll remember that cretin as well. A man from the culture of entitlement who wanted nothing but power. A more upper class, infinitely more stupid version of Thatcher. A man who introduced a referendum the country did not need, based on a simple yes/no answer to a question that didn't yet exist and which was infinitely more complex than anybody ever envisaged.

But mostly it will remember Theresa May. A woman who was promoted far beyond her abilities purely because everybody who opposed her in election for leader retreated. A woman who decided that she should embrace power by pushing for the hardest version of a policy that she never actually believed in. Inept, idiotic, bumbling, a catastrophe.

My friend Paul Fitzgerald put it brilliantly earlier:

She didn’t need to call that election. But she did. 

She didn’t need to trigger Article 50. But she did. 

She didn’t need to declare her ‘red lines’. But she did. 

She needed to put someone into place who knew how to negotiate. But she didn’t. 

She needed to create impact assessments to truly understand the gravity of what she was about to undertake. But she didn’t. 

She needed to consider the British border on the island of Ireland. But she didn’t. 

We could go on. There are still people who think Britain will be ok, that we can somehow sail through this minor event without any detrimental effect. There are still people who believe in this woman. There are still people who believe in Brexit. 

I fucking despair.

I fucking despair too.

Theresa May's idea of a deal is only marginally better than the no deal we've managed to avoid. If it's voted through then this country is over. Hand it over to the rabid right, let Rees Mogg lead them, close the borders and lock the bloody place down. Let the rest of us leave, don't allow those other bastards out and admit that England was a failed experiment.

If It's voted down, as please god will happen, then we need her to stand down, call a general election and then hope to all the higher powers that there's time to revoke article 50 and let sanity take control.

It's 7pm. The vote is starting.

See you on the other side.