Social Commentary

How to make peace with Brexit

It’s time to make peace with Brexit …

It’s been just 13 months since the British people voted to leave the European Union. Since then my utterly awful Metropolitan Elite (™) friends have been on a warpath. A loose coalition of Champagne Socialists, Lidl Prosecco Liberals and Craft Beer Corbynistas have conspired to inform and reiterate to me just how wrong the British electorate were and how angry they are. (I am of course, for the purposes of this blogpost, above the fray and have never slighted anyone in my life.)

Brexit negotiations have started and nobody thinks they’re going well. We’ve opened Schrodingers’ box and found a cat that is not quite dead but has a grim case of scabies and quite justifiably hates us for putting it through this ordeal. The Tories want to keep this cat, even if it bites us or ruins the economy. Labour want to nurse it in a way that appeals to their feline-friendly working class voters and their more murderous metropolitan supporters. The RSPCA are nowhere to be seen, presumably because they have more important things to do than deal with laborious metaphors.

Since the referendum, I have had about three conversations a week about how badly Brexit is going. I’ve had 152 conversations that have all been the same. It’s like Groundhog Day, if Groundhog Day had been a film about a man discussing the intricacies of EU regulations and the technicalities of the customs union. It’s like Groundhog Day if Groundhog Day had been shit.

I’ve become so Bored of Brexit (incidentally the title of my upcoming book which details my disinterest over 452 pages) that I’ve devised a way to help all my friends get over it. So take heed Botanical Gin Bolsheviks! Here’s what you need to do …

Get excited for the London property market crash!

Sure, this housing crisis could be solved relatively easily with rent controls and investment in social housing but that’d make us all card-carrying Communists and we’d suddenly find ourselves living in an authoritarian dystopia. Brexit may be our only hope. When the economy inevitably crumbles, providing you still have a job, it could well be your time to get on the ladder! (But do be careful as it’ll probably be a ladder made in Britain.)

Take solace from the fact the hard Brexiteers are just as mad as you

Women still get maternity leave. Hanging continues to be illegal. Shillings have not been reintroduced. There’s no doubt the hard Brexiteers are upset. The mewling headlines of the Sun, the Mail and the Express (who have complained of ‘traitors’ and a ‘foreign elite’ seeking to ‘subvert’ Brexit) read like deranged a Twitter feed jointly run by Nigel Farage and Joseph Goebbels. We should of course, denounce the bigoted screed these second-rate publications spew but it’s also good to know we’re not alone – they’re just as unhappy as we are.

Talk to a ‘Lexiteer’

These are people on the political left who will tell you that Britain leaving the EU, a buttress against a brutal Conservative ideology of austerity and social darwinism, was definitely a good thing for workers’ rights and minorities in Britain. Talking to any of them for five minutes will ensure you never want to talk about Brexit again.

Flee

Take a trip to continental Europe or go backpacking anywhere in the world. Rest assured that nobody will bring up Brexit. You’d never mention Donald Trump to a clearly liberal American would you? No. And by the same logic, nobody will mention Brexit to you. A foolproof plan.

Rigorously following this advice will help us all move forward as we enter another 13 months of Brexit bargaining. And although by enacting the above you won’t actually achieve anything tangible, that will put you pretty much on a par with David Davis and Boris Johnson.

We’re all in this together guys!

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Get more of my Remoaner nonsense on Twitter: @JamesEvans42.

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David Cameron should attack binge drinking from a Wetherspoons

Earlier this week, David Cameron announced that his government’s cuts to public services would be permanent. In a rousing speech, the Prime Minister made the case for a smaller state. Cameron decided to call time on a government that spends taxpayers’ money so frivolously.

Where did he announce his vision for a “leaner, more efficient state”? At a white-tie state banquet of course! Funded by taxpayers. Surrounded by gold. Next to a throne.

It’s an approach that some have criticised. Snitty, sarcastic bloggers have complained that a man who tells the general public to make do with a thrifty NHS, whilst enjoying a lavish banquet at their expense is ‘beyond satire’.

But not this one. This one admires the fucking cheek of it.

Over the course of a single evening, David Cameron has taken the maxim, “do as I say, not as I do”, to dizzying new heights. By refusing to concern himself with entirely justified charges of hypocrisy and general twattery, he has given himself licence to do just about anything he pleases.

The Prime Minister could now give a speech on the evils of gambling from a Las Vegas casino or espouse the merits of public transport from a private helicopter. But what he really needs to do is take on binge drinking from a Wetherspoons.

When I say take on binge drinking, I don’t mean actually do anything to help those addled by alcoholism – because that would cost money. I am simply suggesting that the Prime Minister lecture those that he represents. From a pub.

Just imagine, a slightly shitfaced David Cameron looking into the camera, and exclaiming without the slightest sense of irony, “Britons need to drink less”, before nearly falling off his chair. The event would go down as a (literally) staggering triumph of hypocrisy.

The media would be out in force. In an interview with Sky News, the Prime Minister would extensively list the beers, wines and spirits he wanted to see the country drinking less of. With a microphone in one hand and a bottle of Lambrini in the other, the message would be crystal clear.

Some will no doubt balk at my suggestion. And perhaps they are right to. It is true that I am unlikely to become a Tory spin doctor any time soon. But Christmas is coming and throughout the festive period many Britons will consume their own bodyweight in booze. So what better time to launch this campaign for a “leaner” consumption of alcohol?

If the PM is quick, he may even make it in time for happy hour.

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The world according to Michael Gove

Yesterday,  Michael Gove, the Education Secretary, was asked about food banks distributing school uniforms to parents who could not afford to clothe their children.

His response?

A lot of people are only at food banks because, “[they are] not best able to manage their own finances”.

Oh! That’s why they are there! Thanks Michael, I was getting worried it was something to do with a prolonged fall in household incomes and/or your government’s reckless policy of austerity. But I was wrong after all. They are simply there because of their own poor judgement. Well, thank God for that!

If everyone was as good with their money as Michael Gove is with his, we wouldn’t need these food banks in the first place. This is a man who knew exactly the right moment to pay back the £7,000 expenses he claimed to lavishly furnish his second home. It was when he got caught, of course.

The whole episode only further enhances the Education Secretary’s reputation as a rigorous academic thinker. In less than a minute, Gove was able to explain an economic phenomena that many have spent their whole lives studying. He was able to pinpoint the root cause of poverty in a matter of seconds. People are poor because they are crap with money. It really is that simple.

We should encourage Michael Gove to share his not inconsiderable wisdom. He is after all, in the perfect position to do so. As the Education Secretary he should at least make sure his wise words find their way on to the curriculum. But he should go further than that and include other Goveisms.

Before they start whining about a social and economic system that is rigged against them, the so-called ‘poor and vulnerable’ of tomorrow need to know that:

  • People freeze to death in Winter because they don’t know how to use their heaters. It has nothing to do with energy prices or inadequate insulation.
  • Young people can’t find jobs because they (quite literally) do not know what work is. This conceptual gap completely explains unemployment. The economy does not come into this.
  • Polar bears are dying because they don’t know how to manage their own properties and fisheries. Not because their homes are melting.

Perhaps we are being a little harsh on Gove. To be fair, poverty is not his area of expertise. He is the Education Secretary. The people best placed to judge him are the teachers, headteachers and support staff  that work tirelessly in schools up and down the country. And I hear that they absolutely adore him.

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Gap Years: A New Form Of Colonialism?

Originally written for The Huffington Post.

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An update: After writing this I received quite a bit of feedback from people who had been on gap years themselves. Some felt I had rather unfairly lumped all their experiences together. I thought that this was a fair criticism. The article was aimed at the kind of gap years I am most familiar with, but didn’t make this clear. Apologies to those who felt unfairly treated by the piece.

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A little over three years ago, I was sat by a fireplace in a cramp, dimly lit, yet charming pub in east Reading. An old friend of mine, much to my displeasure, was regaling me with tales of his year abroad. Once he had explained just how marvellous travelling around the world to see sights and/or build schools was, he suddenly transformed from storyteller to salesman. “You must have least considered it?” Without so much as a blink of acknowledgement on my part he stepped up the patter and moved into fifth-gear, “At this age, people like me and you have an amazing opportunity it would be ridiculous to pass up. The world is our oyster and we should make the most of it.”

At that point, my boredom gave way to a peculiar sense of unease. Something wasn’t quite right, but I couldn’t put my finger on what. Some years later I was able to reflect on what had been happening that evening.

Two white, relatively wealthy, British men were sat with pints of ale taking a superficial interest in the values and customs of exotic and unknown cultures. One was telling the other about the various ways in which he could enrich himself by embarking some sort of pseudo-spiritual journey. For anyone looking on and listening in, it was obvious that in this context, the value of Thai or Peruvian culture was directly derived from what it could provide these men with. A ‘rejuvenation’, a ‘new perspective’, or even just an interesting opening line for an otherwise unimaginative CV.

If I had taken up the great gap year challenge, it would not be the first time a boring British man had paid as little as possible to extract as much as he could from a poor country with interesting individuals, tastes and traditions. I did want to escape and it would be a lie to say I wasn’t tempted by the excitement of exploring a foreign locale. It would also be something of stretch to say I abandoned the idea as some sort of political protest – I just wanted to get to university as soon as possible.

Back in the pub, an assumption had (correctly) been made that if I really wanted to go, funding for the expedition would have been made available to me. If times were tough in the Evans household, my friend suggested, I could even ask for the trip as, “a joint birthday and Christmas present”. It wasn’t a gift that most of the world could hope to find in their stockings.

Such an opportunity was derived from a background that prolific colonialist Cecil Rhodes once likened to, ‘winning first prize in the lottery of life’. My descent from a country with average incomes several times higher than those of a place like China would buy me service from locals with a much stronger work ethic than my own. Whether this would come in the form of their accommodation, serving me food, or providing me with a somewhat Disneyfied experience of international development would be entirely my call.

In the UK, gap years are sold as an experiential delicacy that one can purchase from a company that has offices in India and headquarters in closer to home. A product that is sold at low price thanks to the ‘simple lives’ (low wages) of workers in the former. On one level, one can’t help but imagine the pioneers of the East India Company looking on approvingly.

Perhaps labelling all gap years ‘colonialist’ is a little harsh. Some will argue that the trips are important to economic growth in developing countries. Others will maintain they provide Westerners with perspective and set them up to do good in the world. It is also important to note that there are huge variations in gap years and the stated intentions of those taking them. Some really do want to make the world a better place. However, I’m still uneasy with the historic parallels. I can’t shake an anxiety derived from the economic disparity that makes them possible.

Maybe I’m being far too cynical. I am now in my final year at university. Post-graduation, maybe I need to get away from it all. Friends tell me that Fiji is such a beautiful country and that you can get an amazing massage for next to nothing …

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Always look on the bright side

Originally written for publication in The Boar, Warwick University’s student newspaper.—

As my three-year holiday (degree) nears an end, I find myself becoming increasingly pessimistic. My dazzling optimism has been engulfed by a cynical alter-ego who holds nothing – and I mean nothing – as possible.

It doesn’t matter how proud your parents are, when you are one of thousands of wannabe journalists, hoping to enter the ever-shrinking sector, having blacklisted half of your potential employers for political reasons, the future doesn’t look bright.

Although this may indeed be a fair assessment of my employment opportunities, it’s a position I’ve voluntarily put myself in. I’ve made my bed (out of unsold newspapers) and am now very much lying in it. What I lament is that I’ve used this self-inflicted destitution as an excuse to dismiss all the good things that have happened and are happening to me. I’ve become something of a grinch.

A few weeks ago I got stuck in the queue at Leamington’s flagship two-story nightclub, Evolve. I was waiting to put my coat away and they’d run out of hangers. “This is ridiculous!”, I cried, expressing a sense of entitlement I didn’t realize I could convey with such conviction. I then made a number of oh-so-funny quips well within the earshot of staff members who were in no way responsible for the hold up.

The next day, I woke to the news more than 200 people had died in a nightclub in Brazil. A fire had broken out – many had been trampled in the pandemonium and others had suffocated. I stopped complaining for a moment. Had my night really been all that bad? Perhaps it was time to take stock.

In a few months, I’ll be leaving a top university with a good degree. In all likeliness I won’t be receiving a call from the Guardian but I won’t be on the streets either. I’ll have a roof over my head. Healthcare. Food. Family and friends. I’ll be afforded far more than a huge proportion of the world’s population and – thanks to our morally bankrupt coalition government – a sizeable number of people in the UK.

Make no mistake, as a generation, we have reasons to harbour resentment. Many of them are justified. We’ve been born into a world in which leaders have dismissed the plight of the poor, ravaged resources and installed corrupt economic systems – bastardized capitalisms – on a global scale. But the vast majority of people reading this have shelter in which they can weather the storm. A safety net. If we want to get angry, we should first count our blessings. We should protest because so many others come up short.

It could, after all, be so much worse.

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