31/01/2020
It’s Friday, January 31st 2020. I happen to be in Portugal and have just eaten my last croissant (while Britain remains within the European family). Lovely, delicious, buttery croissants people – it’s Eccles cakes for us from now on.
Well, of course it isn’t, but it does feel that we’ve lost something. The man on the radio was trying to get Steve Baker, the former Brexit minister, to comfort us with news about how much better things will be for the country. But, of course, there’s not much to say right now. Nobody really knows how it’s going to pan out.
The Government is determined that celebrations will be muted, so as not to be triumphalist. This is fair enough, but it’s a step too far to suggest that as a consequence we’re now a happy little family again. Even though nobody declares themselves to be Brexiteers or Remainers these days, my suspicion is that people still fall into the camps they aligned themselves with in 2016. Previous remainers, although now homeless, are unlikely to be impressed by Prime Minister Johnson’s view that since nothing can now deflect the project, they should simply suck it up.
Well, of course, I am sucking it up. And I have a vested interest, like everybody else, in the country doing at least tolerably well post-Brexit. The last thing I want is to feel justified in saying “I told you so”.
But by the same token I’m faintly disgruntled at being told to cheer up.
Ann and I bumped into an old friend last week, who told us that she is having a Brexit party tonight. When she saw the look on our faces, she quickly pointed out that it wasn’t a celebration, it’s to be a wake. They’ll eat food and drink wines from a variety of former colleague nations and maybe listen to some European music or sing an appropriate song.
I was touched by news of the European Parliament, after ratifying Britain’s withdrawal agreement this week, singing ‘Auld Lang Syne’.
Am I bitter? No. Am I disappointed? Yes. Let’s just all pray that all the theories are correct, and this all turns out happily.