The Sick Man Of Europe

Both sides in the EU referendum debate have been issuing dire warnings of the consequences of not voting their way on 23rd June. Earlier in the week I speculated on what might happen if we vote Remain. In the interests of balance, here's some guesswork on what the outcome could be if we vote to Leave.

This is a work of fiction but Donald Trump could be POTUS come November.

Carefully, Brian put his glass down on the table. Despite having been in The Bell for the best part of half-an-hour, he had barely blown the froth off the top of his beer. Well, at nearly ten quid a pint, you had to make it last.

"Can't believe it's only been five years," Brian said sorrowfully. "I remember all that euphoria, all that hope. And look at us now. I just hope Johnson and Farage are pleased with themselves."

I nodded. Five years after the decision to leave the EU and once again Britain was being called the sick man of Europe. Of Europe, note, because we're still part of Europe if not the European Union. Unemployment hit six million last year and shows no sign of slowing. Brian noted dolefully that we were probably the only two customers in the pub who actually had jobs. Mind you, there were only a half-dozen or so other punters, and those of them who weren't stretching their drinks out to last as long as they could were drinking tap water. Our town used to have five, maybe six pubs, all doing a good trade before 23rd June 2016. Now there's only The Bell, and how that keeps going is a mystery.

I asked him how his job was going and he made a sour face.

"Lucky to have it, I guess. Did sixty-five hours last week," he said. "I was right with Jeremy Corbyn when he opposed the Tories doing away with the Working Time Directive, but thank goodness they did. If I couldn't work all the hours God sends I'd never be able to keep my head above water."

"Yes," I acknowledged. "And when Labour got in last year, everyone expected them to put some sort of workers' rights bill in the Queen's speech, but there was nothing. Was a funny old Queen's speech too, what with the royals decamping to Canada and her delivering the speech by Skype."

Brian shrugged. "Say what you like about Corbyn, and I've said plenty, he's a pragmatist. Workers rights are all very well but there're no good to if you've got no job."

"I know," I said. "All those strikes when the Tories did away with paid maternity leave and sick pay and the unions confident Jeremy would see them right, and what did he say? 'Sorry chaps, no can do, the country can't afford it.'"

" Everything's gone up in the shops and what with interest rates up where they are, most of my money goes on the mortgage," Brian moaned.

"Perhaps you should downsize," I suggested.

Brian snorted derisorily. "Have you seen the housing market? Prices are lower than a dachsund's swingers; I've got negative equity and no flipping chance of moving."

Bob, the landlord wandered over, collecting empty glasses and wiping down tables. "Closing at nine tonight lads," he said.

"Oh it's not power cuts again is it?" moaned Brian.

"Yes, 'fraid so," said Bob. "Three days a week, power off at half-nine."

"So much for the cheap energy from Hinckley Point," I said. "When we pulled out of the EU, China pulled its investment. And gas from Russia's a joke, it's so flippin' expensive. If I didn't have to cook with it I'd have it cut off."

"Yeah, me too," said Brian. "Oh, before I forget, are you going to the bank this week?"

"Yeah, on Thursday," I said. "I've got a day off and I want to talk to them about my pension. Why?"

"Oh, I've got a cheque needs paying in. I'd go myself, but what with the branch closures after all the big banks took their head offices to Frankfurt, I can't find the time or the petrol money to drive fifty miles to my branch. Why do you want to talk to them about your pension?"

"Well, turns out Osborne was right," I said. "Annuity rates are pathetic. My lump sum is going to get me naff all, it's worth about a tenth of what it was before we voted out of the EU. At this rate they'll take me out of work in a box before I can afford to retire. George said it would cost us all thirty-two grand, turns out that was optimistic, more like double that."

"This isn't what Farage and Johnson promised us, is it?" said Brian. "And whatever happened to those two anyway?"

"Boris has got dual American citizenship,"  I said. "Went over the pond and took to the after dinner speech circuit."

"And Farage?"

"Well, you know his wife is German," I replied, "He took off with her to Berlin. I understand he's working for some organisation out there that wants Germany out of the EU. The Deutsche Freiheit Partei I think it's called."

Brian nodded...and winced. "You OK?" I asked.

"Not really," he said. "My back's killing me. Went to the quack last week, he's referred me to the hospital for tests, but apparently what with all those health service cuts and staff shortages after all those nurses were sent back to Europe, there's a six month waiting list."

"Oh great," I said. "Boris and his crew reckoned what with all the money we would save, the NHS would be better off. Ha! What a crock that was!"

There was silence for a while. Brian sipped his pint; I just gazed at mine.

"How's Harry?" I asked. Harry is Brian's son, coming up to eighteen and about to leave school. "Is he going to university or what?"

"He wanted to go to Oxford," said Brian, "But the fees are crippling, especially now you have to pay them up front. Oh for the days of student loans! Then he talked about a gap year, back-packing round Europe, but what with the new Exchange Control regulations, he wouldn't be able to take enough dough to get him much further than Calais, even if he could afford it."

"I wouldn't go to Calais anyway," I said. "Too dangerous, what with the French shooting all of the refugees trying to get into France from Britain."

"I know, ironic isn't it? One thing we were really worried about before Brexit, all that unfettered immigration and now the beggars are queuing up to leave and they can't get out!"

We fell silent again. Behind the bar, the TV was showing the news channel. America President Donald Trump appeared on screen.

The sound was off, but no words were needed to appreciate the fervour with which he was speaking. The ticker at the bottom of the screen said, 'Trump announces start of Mexican Wall construction.'

Brian turned to me, gestured toward the TV, and smiling for the first time that evening, said, "Oh well, it could be worse you know, we could have him in charge!"