No Country For Old Ben

“Ignorance is piss.”

I haven’t blogged for quite some time, not least because I don’t currently live in China. After exiting Beijing several months ago, and spending a depressing week in drizzly Oxfordshire, I decamped to Vancouver (where it rains just as much but the people are, on the whole, warmer, friendlier and much less rampantly xenophobic than they are in the UK).

I may not currently be qualified to write about being a bewildered foreigner in China, but this is still my blog and I felt a need to spit out some vitriol regarding the recent Brexit ‘victory’ in my former homeland.

The rest of the world is a little confused, partly because of moronic Neanderthal-level grunting that seems to translate as “I voted leave but I didn’t expect to leave” and “can we have another referendum because I’m not actually sure what I was voting for?” Rumours abound of persons unknown frantically Googling ‘what is the EU’ hours after casting their vote to take a massive shit on it, raising the not entirely unfounded question here in Van City, “if you were undecided about the issue or, heavens forbid, have a fat trumpet-shaped head that’s incapable of forming a coherent thought, why in the blue fuck did you bother turning up to vote?”

By 8am the morning after, Nigel ‘Chaplin tache’ Farage was on breakfast television gleefully weaseling out of every promise that had emerged from his ugly, smug, whiter-than-white face during the run up to the referendum. Even Gove and BoJo*, who had previously been scrambling to find the metal bar on the exit door, now feel that a ‘period of reflection’ is needed, political-speak for “What the Southeast Jesus have we actually done, and where are our trousers?”

‘Great Britain’ has, alas, long been a contradiction in terms but now too is ‘United Kingdom’. The isolated city-state of London (a single eye of civilization in an otherwise hysterical land of the blind) voted to remain, as did Scotland** and Northern Ireland, two nations that were dragged into the formerly ‘united’ kingdom against their will by floppy-haired racists and have now been dragged out of the EU by their 21st Century doppelgängers. For me, the only surprise is that some IRA nutter or disgruntled Glaswegian fishmonger hasn’t started lobbing bombs or discharging shotgun barrels in the middle of densely populated English market towns.

I have long ago soaped and rinsed my hands of that dreary little island in the middle of nowhere, that once great nation and sceptered isle floating in the sea like a slightly overcast dog turd. I’m lucky. I’m already a citizen of the land of hockey, poutine and smokable pain relief, and by Monday I’ll have begun the application process for my passport here in the great white north, with the intention of eventually returning to Asia for a period of (trousered) reflection before hopefully travelling onwards to all 27 countries that the UK has just ignorantly turned its back on.

And Scotland.

*(watching with faces like two smacked vaginas, amazed that anyone had actually swallowed their own discharge)

**(despite what president-to-be and fucknumpty elect Donald Trump seems to think)