A Festival Of Brexit? F*ck No.

I don’t spend much time writing about the Brexit thing. It’s happened. I fully accept we are no longer a member of the European Union. 

I say this as a Remain voter, as well as someone who campaigned tirelessly for the Remain cause. 

Did I think the EU was perfect? No. 

Did I sing “Oooohhh Jean-Claude Junker”? No. 

Did I think the MEP expenses were sustainable? No.

Did I think that every minute we witnessed less of the Poundshop Enoch, Farage (sounds like “garage”, not “mirage”) polluting the airwaves, would be a blessed minute? Abso-fucking-lutely. 

The image of flag-fancying Farage singing ‘God Save The Queen’, was more than enough to justify Jeremy Corbyn’s decision not to belt out the little ditty like a Stella-fuelled member of the Football Lads Alliance. 

It’s very important not to help people like Farage promote themselves. It’s “FA-RIDGE” (the “FA” stands for “fucking awful). So when you think of Farage, just think of a garage. 

It’s no different with people calling another Brexit icon, Boris Johnson, quite simply “Boris”. His name is Johnson, not Boris. Don’t humanise the oaf. So when you think of Johnson, just think of an American slang word for “penis”. 

And you don’t escape, Sir Starmer. Don’t call him “Keir”. A socialist is called Keir. Sir Starmer is as much a socialist as I am a member of the Exclusive Brethren. So when you think of Sir Starmer, just think of a posh Keith Chegwin. 

But anyway, that was a lengthy intro, although that probably means less to read from here on, so it’s not all bad news.

Do you know what caused this rant? Yes, the Covid crisis is absolutely breaking my heart right now. The feeble restrictions, the inept conduct of a morally vacant shambles of a government - and the opposition that has been frequently outflanked by a 23-year-old footballer - and of course, the tragic soaring death toll, more than 6,000 in the last four days alone, all of which I’ve covered in great depth elsewhere. 

But no, it’s the Festival of Brexit.

Or should it be named the £120 million Festival of Brexit? 

£120 million celebrating what exactly? 

Who came up with this utterly pointless, crass, flag-waving abomination of an idea? 

Do they *really* think that this is what’s needed to lift the spirits of a grieving, tired and increasingly angry nation?

Why wasn’t this gormless idea deemed pointless and ludicrous when it was originally floated a year or so ago?

These are just a few of the questions I asked myself when I first heard about it. Even the suggestion of stumping up this kind of cash makes the mind boggle. 

You cannot spend this sort of money celebrating a catastrophe all of the time Britain’s streets are lined with humans sleeping in doorways. Not a fucking chance. This just isn’t acceptable. 

At least you know what that £20 a week cut in Universal Credit will be paying for.  

How about free parking for NHS workers? This seriously bothers me. 

£120 million will pay for lots of empty pieces of concrete. I couldn’t care less if it was a New Labour creation. It’s wrong. It is nothing less than an abhorrent tax on some of the bravest and most caring individuals in society. Real life heroes. The fact someone is making a huge profit out of their extraordinary brilliance should disgust anyone with just a scrap of a conscience. 

And don’t even get me started on charging sick people to park. Using the poor health of you or your loved ones as a corporate cash cow is fucking diabolical. 

NHS trusts in England raised an estimated £226 million from parking charges in 2017-18, including penalty fines, with £157m raised from patients and visitors and £69m from staff, for whom public transport is sometimes not an option if they work unsocial hours, which many of them do, on a regular basis, caring for the population, 24/7.

Some nurses pay £1,000 a year in parking costs.

NHS hospital car parking charges are a tax on the sick, the elderly, the vulnerable and on our incredible NHS staff. This is wholly wrong, and it has to stop.

If we cannot find the money to scrap the NHS parking tax, we certainly can’t be ‘spaffing’ £120 million up the wall on a festival that I would imagine would look something like this: 

The MP for 1864, Jacob Rees-Mogg dismantling his Penny Farthings and converting them into steam-powered Ferris Wheels. 

‘Brexit’s Got Talent’, featuring your favourite comedian, Jim Davidson, who will attempt to perform a seance to summon the spirit of Bernard Manning. The Who frontman, Roger Daltrey, doing an acoustic cover of Roy Orbison’s megahit ‘Crying’ (or “Cwying”, if you remember the Only Fools and Horses version). And if that’s not enough to get your Churchillian blood pumping, new ‘Forces sweetheart’, Steven Yaxley-Lennon will be reciting the poetic works of Jeremy Clarkson. 

Be sure to keep an eye out for the side stalls, where you can buy unlimited amounts of sovereignty, an ideal souvenir for the kids.

Feeling thirsty? Head straight to Wetherspoons ‘Beer’ Tent, where the first 100 customers will have their beer pulled by the homeless Thundercat himself. We’re hoping Mark Francois will be making a guest appearance around 2pm, and he’ll be telling us all how we managed to escape the clutches of the evil unelected Brussels bureaucrats, how we have taken back control, and how we handed it all to Dominic Cummings and a small, but massively influential clique that’s surrounds the Prime Minister.

You can also catch Ian Izzy Wizzy Let’s Get Busy Botham performing magic tricks in the Patriots tent. Just get your kids to go over to him with what used to be their freedom of movement, and he will make it vanish for at least a generation. Workers rights? Human Rights? Unhappy fish? Not a problem, take them over to Beefy and he’ll make them disappear into thin air, quicker than you can say “Brexit Festival means Brexit Festival”. 

I’m sure any losses will be more than covered by that unlimited sovereignty, even if it does come at a hefty price. 

Late afternoon, and you will have your very own opportunity to be photographed in the driver's seat of the big red lie bus for just £350. We are expecting to be joined by Priti Patel around 4.30pm, where further flagtastic photo opportunities will be available, with prices starting from just £50,000, sent straight to CCHQ, via the Cayman Islands. 

To finish the magnificent celebration of Brexit we head to the main stage, where we find former Lib Dem, Darren Grimes, covering the smash hit from Wheatus, ‘Teenage Dirtbag’. This will be followed by a haunting version of Radiohead’s ‘Creep’, from new Brexit convert Keith ft The Spy Who Bugged Me.

Just when you thought the fun was over, Boris Johnson himself, fresh from throwing a population under the aforementioned big red bus, thrills the crowds with his renowned zip-wiring skills, while the Eton College Orchestra below him perform Land of Hopeless Tories, Cruel Britannia, and a stirring finale of the National Anthem, with Gary Barlow on the fiddle throughout.

Something like that anyway. 

If you want fireworks you’ll have to bring your own. You can’t stretch £120 million much further than that. 

See, now you can see why I don’t write about Brexit too often. 

I fully accept we are where we are. I could’ve lived with a ‘soft Brexit’, I’ve probably got more leave voters in my inner-circle of friends than I have Remain voters. Brexit isn’t our divide. We’re socialists. 

But none of this means I have to like this national humiliation, and the thought of a Festival of Brexit, at any cost, infuriates me. Every penny of this monstrosity is a penny being stolen from those who need it most. Sickening ghouls.

Do you genuinely believe this ludicrous attempt at national willy-waving can lift the mood of a nation? Really? If you do, I applaud the fact you’ve managed to read this far without stopping to feed your pet unicorns. 

Anyway, that’s enough from me I think. I hope you see where I’m coming from. I don’t think it’s a particularly controversial point of view. 

A Festival of Brexit? Fuck No.

Take good care of yourselves. 

Rachael x

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