For over three years, British politics have been a pantomime that gives democracy a bad name. A referendum dreamt up to unite the Tory party – spoiler alert, it didn’t – fragmenting the entire electorate with a just-over 50% vote in favour of economic self-harm. The nettle grasped by a vicar’s daughter, and boy oh boy did that nettle sting. Still, she tackled it with robotic determination, while Rome burned, until she finally got the humbling she’d been rooting for since day one. Now, for those of us bludgeoned by the Tory leadership contest, the victor’s blundering first week in parliament has been a joy. But will we find, amid proroguing parliament, sacking twenty-one of his mates – including the longest serving MP – and an apparent willingness to break the law rather than ask Brussels for an extension if he can’t secure a new deal, the final straw that will bring the country to its senses? I hope so, but I can’t believe it will.
 Is that relevant, Anne? It is if she considered that a stamp of her morality, then went on to railroad through an agenda even she didn't want, having voted Remain.
 Or London did, in the Grenfell tower
 See Humbled Theresa puhleeeassse
AKA a fascist plot to demoralise the Left
This is scary. Aren’t the rest of us people? Don’t our opinions count? In our looking-glass world, seemingly not. Words quickly come to mean their opposites, with working-class kids who studied hard and gained good jobs tagged as elite, while the silver-spooned who inherited wealth from their parents are somehow salt of the earth.
But this was never about reason. While some – on both sides of the referendum vote – attempted – despite lies and misinformation – to weigh up the options for staying and leaving, emotion has played as big a part as logic, or maybe more. For some time, there’s been something rotten in the state of Britain, something we can’t quite bear to address. Fortunately, there’s a scapegoat at hand.
On a national level, we’re a tiny country recoiling from a loss of empire unable to face its insignificance on the global stage. Let’s blame the EU for holding us back, especially when Germany has become so influential. Didn’t we thrash them in the war?
On an individual level, decades of widening inequalities, promoted by governments of both Left and Right, have left many impoverished, hopeless and demoralised, while servo-charged capitalism has demolished the structures through which they might have fought back. You might think that decades of cheap package holidays to Europe would have weakened the tendency to offload our disgruntlement onto ‘foreigners’ but maybe the temptation – albeit unconsciously – is too much to resist.
The referendum seems to have galvanised the electorate with an enthusiasm often associated with reality TV. On such shows, it might not be so much that viewers choose the candidate they consider to have the best qualities but that, after selecting their favourite, they conclude that person must be the best. If that person wins, wouldn’t they – wouldn’t you? – consider it a miscarriage of justice if the decision were dismissed.
I suspect something like this mechanism is behind the commitment of ‘The people’ to crashing out of the EU. It’s less about whether this is the right move – the rational doesn’t have much of a part – but, especially for people who feel powerless and rarely find themselves on the winning team, it becomes to feel more correct the more it’s threatened. ‘The people’ will insist on the prize being awarded, whether it benefits them or not.
I don’t know what the answer is. In fact, recognising that logic has nothing to do with it makes me even more despondent about our future, and angry with the chump who set this whole thing off. Although if any of them should read it, I imagine they’d find my analysis insulting, it does – for perhaps the first time – give me some sympathy for ‘The people’ whose goals are completely at odds with mine.
 It's a long time ago, but still in living memory of the democratic that voted Remain, but in my pre-EU childhood adults would often shake their heads at some German accomplishment, saying, "Remind me again who won the war!"
 There's psychology on this – honestly! – but I don't even know where to look for it, never mind find it.
The game kicks off at Eton, wellspring of uneven playing fields. Tactics tested and perfected in the hallowed halls of Oxbridge, it’s bowled by banking barons to the Palace – Westminster, that is – batted back and forth between the Commons and the Lords. Though dressed in Greek and Latin, there’s nothing classy about the rules. Leave truth behind in the changing rooms, trounce the opposition and lay tripwires for those of your teammates who won’t pledge one hundred percent support. Forget fair play, sell your granny if you have to: winning’s all that matters; true grit will grab the prize.