Creative essay by Liam travers
Picture this...
You're Soho way. It's late, but not irresponsibly so for a school night. The
composition of the evening's posse is deliciously cosmopolitan: two Brits, a
German and a manciata (handful) of Italians. This is standard stuff for you; an
international baller floating competently (at least in your own head) through an
LSE undergraduate degree.
You've brought along a friend from the West Country. That's right, you're keeping
it grounded. Conversation is light and polite, ranging from summer plans to
Emmanuelle Macron's bottle-flipping prowess (what a guy!).
Talk turns, inevitably, to Britain's position in the Global order post-elephant in the
room. Scheisse (sh*t)! You laugh the line of questioning off, aware of the dark
secret your amigo has locked away in his Brexit bank. "Let's not bring down the
mood", you mumble in a manner elucidating your torn desire to save your mate's
skin and see him ferociously interrogated in multiple languages.
One of the Italians persists, confident that we are all singing from the same
hymn sheet. Good try [insert your name]. At least in juxtaposition to the
upcoming revelation you will look more charming/wonderful than you naturally
are. A small mercy. You await the fireworks.
They are brighter and more explosive than you anticipated. They are also
dangerous. The first fist slammed on the table shakes the legs of your chair. The
second sends the quasi-pretzel nibbles flying along with any composure these
continental Europeans once held.
The reaction is above and beyond your expectations. You were anticipating a
laugh and a joke at the expense of your friend and his silly decision. It would be
uncomfortable, but probably palatable. Instead, they grow visibly angry. You are
guilty by association. Your mate;s subsequent sobriquet of 'Brexit Boy' gives rise
to yours: 'Brexit Boy's Friend'. You understand the etiquette of nickname-giving
but this is still upsetting. You go to bed in a similarly confused and angry state as
your foreign counterparts.
After reading this stream of nonsense, you are probably sharing these same two
emotions. What has this anecdote got to do with, frankly, anything? Well, I think
this true and truly bizarre incident has some relevance.
From my own experiences, feelings over the UK's decision to depart from the
European Union have not reduced in intensity but are simply manifesting
differently. In contrast to the jeering texts I received from family abroad over the
summer of 2016 (cheers Oma), there is now, more than ever, a real feeling that
the UK has let the side down.
But this is harmless, right? Wrong. Indeed, not too long ago there was talk of
punishing the UK during the Brexit discussions - much of which was peddled by
leading Eurocrats. Alarmingly, a notable few of these are, as I write, in and
around Michel Barnier's dream team. This rhetoric, particularly as we head into
trade negotiations, needs to end; it has no place on, under or in the
same continent as the Brussel's negotiation table. I am well aware that we aren't
in the club anymore, but let's not become the opposition.
Besides, I don't fancy getting banned from a bar again.
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