Ok folks ... 'folks' so often repeated in the referendum results coverage last night, that it could be trending on its own ... yes, folks - here is an early morning, bleary-eyed, need-another-coffee quiz for you: who knows where the title of this blog is from? It is misquoted; a little. Shortened and cropped; a little.
Poetic? Apt? Gloomy?
All of the above; a little.
I'm a little bit tired - something to do with cups of tea and ironing and watching television till 2am - so I'm hoping you'll forgive me. Perhaps, if I give you a clue ... Or spread this analogy a little thicker?
Beefing up the analogy, would take it to a little island. To an apocalypse, too. Although, that's perhaps, a little strong. Maybe, a 'seismic' shift in the world we thought we knew. On our little island. And if indeed a seismic shift - another word too often said, in the referendum results coverage, last night - why does no-one know how to pronounce seismic? Or at least, agree how to pronounce it? Remain or Leave; both regarded the shift as 'seismic.' Good seismic and bad seismic. Or 'see-is-mick'; 'sayz-mick'; 'sigh-s-mick' and 'see-z-meek.' Was this a reflection on their inability to agree on anything?
Anyhow, back to my island. A little island. Slipping. Adrift. Mine. Yes; I'm a Scot who lives in England. I used to understand what that meant. After last night, I'm no longer sure if I do. I don't want Scotland to slip away. Not even a little bit. Not at all, in fact.
Perhaps ... maybe ... hopefully .... after some choppy times ahead, things will settle. This is a democracy after all. Democracies are good. Aren't they? They should teach us to respect each other; to be colour blind; to hear what our neighbours say. Perhaps, we should believe the Brexiters, when they tell us now to think about the long term; about future opportunities for wider and more UK-beneficial trade agreements; about taking back control of the laws that affect our lives and control immigration; about how we will still - even after scaling down the exaggerated sums they had hypnotised us with during the campaign - have lots of extra money to spend on ourselves. But I fear they lose sight of us as a very little island in a very big world. A little island populated by 'littluns' scared of the nasty EU 'beastie' and governed by 'biguns' on both sides of the in-out argument, who told lies and manipulated and shouted and discoursed on and on and on, in an increasingly oppressive neverendum.
... you know where I'm going with this now? Where the title is from?
One tribe against another?
Leave against Remain.
Each 'walloping' each other 'properly' during the weeks leading up to the referendum.
... got it? ... William Golding; Lord of the Flies.
It's what happens next that is the worry. It will define who we become. I hope we have the statesmen and stateswomen to steer us well. For either tribe, uncertainty lies ahead. Is Farage Jack? Was Cameron destined to be Ralph, but saw a vision of the future and decided to step away from that role? Who will be Ralph now? And who Simon?
Is the EU the beast? Or perhaps, the EU is more like Piggy - possessing a cleverness that is blinkered by rules; trying to be sensible but drowning in a sea of financial crisis after financial crisis; suffocating and struggling to breathe under a tsunami of refugees; and ultimately and inevitably doomed?
Perhaps, this is all a little silly? This being these words here. It's meant to be. That is my point. To rant, a little, and hopefully make you smile. Whether celebrating, weeping or resenting the result, none of us knows what lies ahead. It might feel as though the 'understandable world is slipping away.' Certainly, the slipping will accelerate for a while as politicians from each tribe pontificate and ponder and catastrophize. Or, loathsomely, gloat. Hopefully, some will learn how to pronounce seismic and that we don't particularly like being dismissed as just 'folks.'
I don't really think that Farage is Jack. Nor that we stand on the brink of our own Lord of the Flies. I hope that the world becomes more understandable again and stops slipping. I also hope (that's an understatement if ever I wrote one!) that there is never a need to audition for the white-uniformed officer in the final chapter of the book. The saviour who would land on our shores when our little Lord of the Flies island had almost destroyed itself. I know who would love that role. Perhaps, he's dreaming of it already. Imagining it as he flies in to Scotland today. This visit as a dress rehearsal? Yikes! In his mind. Not in ours.
Poetic? Apt? Gloomy?
All of the above; a little.
I'm a little bit tired - something to do with cups of tea and ironing and watching television till 2am - so I'm hoping you'll forgive me. Perhaps, if I give you a clue ... Or spread this analogy a little thicker?
Beefing up the analogy, would take it to a little island. To an apocalypse, too. Although, that's perhaps, a little strong. Maybe, a 'seismic' shift in the world we thought we knew. On our little island. And if indeed a seismic shift - another word too often said, in the referendum results coverage, last night - why does no-one know how to pronounce seismic? Or at least, agree how to pronounce it? Remain or Leave; both regarded the shift as 'seismic.' Good seismic and bad seismic. Or 'see-is-mick'; 'sayz-mick'; 'sigh-s-mick' and 'see-z-meek.' Was this a reflection on their inability to agree on anything?
Anyhow, back to my island. A little island. Slipping. Adrift. Mine. Yes; I'm a Scot who lives in England. I used to understand what that meant. After last night, I'm no longer sure if I do. I don't want Scotland to slip away. Not even a little bit. Not at all, in fact.
Perhaps ... maybe ... hopefully .... after some choppy times ahead, things will settle. This is a democracy after all. Democracies are good. Aren't they? They should teach us to respect each other; to be colour blind; to hear what our neighbours say. Perhaps, we should believe the Brexiters, when they tell us now to think about the long term; about future opportunities for wider and more UK-beneficial trade agreements; about taking back control of the laws that affect our lives and control immigration; about how we will still - even after scaling down the exaggerated sums they had hypnotised us with during the campaign - have lots of extra money to spend on ourselves. But I fear they lose sight of us as a very little island in a very big world. A little island populated by 'littluns' scared of the nasty EU 'beastie' and governed by 'biguns' on both sides of the in-out argument, who told lies and manipulated and shouted and discoursed on and on and on, in an increasingly oppressive neverendum.
... you know where I'm going with this now? Where the title is from?
One tribe against another?
Leave against Remain.
Each 'walloping' each other 'properly' during the weeks leading up to the referendum.
... got it? ... William Golding; Lord of the Flies.
It's what happens next that is the worry. It will define who we become. I hope we have the statesmen and stateswomen to steer us well. For either tribe, uncertainty lies ahead. Is Farage Jack? Was Cameron destined to be Ralph, but saw a vision of the future and decided to step away from that role? Who will be Ralph now? And who Simon?
Is the EU the beast? Or perhaps, the EU is more like Piggy - possessing a cleverness that is blinkered by rules; trying to be sensible but drowning in a sea of financial crisis after financial crisis; suffocating and struggling to breathe under a tsunami of refugees; and ultimately and inevitably doomed?
Perhaps, this is all a little silly? This being these words here. It's meant to be. That is my point. To rant, a little, and hopefully make you smile. Whether celebrating, weeping or resenting the result, none of us knows what lies ahead. It might feel as though the 'understandable world is slipping away.' Certainly, the slipping will accelerate for a while as politicians from each tribe pontificate and ponder and catastrophize. Or, loathsomely, gloat. Hopefully, some will learn how to pronounce seismic and that we don't particularly like being dismissed as just 'folks.'
I don't really think that Farage is Jack. Nor that we stand on the brink of our own Lord of the Flies. I hope that the world becomes more understandable again and stops slipping. I also hope (that's an understatement if ever I wrote one!) that there is never a need to audition for the white-uniformed officer in the final chapter of the book. The saviour who would land on our shores when our little Lord of the Flies island had almost destroyed itself. I know who would love that role. Perhaps, he's dreaming of it already. Imagining it as he flies in to Scotland today. This visit as a dress rehearsal? Yikes! In his mind. Not in ours.
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