On and on it goes, where it stops...
The Brexit carousel. The Tragic Roundabout. It won't stop. It cannot stop. It has been generating gammonic matter for four years. What happens when it finally reaches critical mass? Monsieur Garnier, sorry, Barnier, says the talks won't go past Wednesday. Until they do.
Four years it's taken, the people that said the day after we vote to leave the EU will be kowtowing before us offering us the terms and conditions of our choosing. Yet here we are. If that were true then how could our bestest and brightest have fucked it up so badly? How did the snatch defeat (we're on the brink) from victory? Where are my sunlit uplands?
Of course it was all a lie. None of them knew what Brexit looked like. Nor could they agree. It is a chimera appearing as something pleasing and different to every single supporter. The only common aspect was a shared hallucination, a matrix world of control. Somewhere along the line the control they believed is theirs but never was had been ceded to Johnny Foreigner, in his most invidious disguise: a continental. Now we stand on the brink of losing everything to gain the control that the government never actually lost. It just refused to exercise. Why, because that control was not in the interests of international capital, which wants cheap global labour and doesn't care about the worker. Yet in order to win over the worker, on behalf of capital, the likes of the Tory have to continuously lie, through their media organs, about migration.
At this point the Brexit negotiations have devolved into a long distance phone call between the EU and Boris Johnson. What a farce it all is. All that time (and money) wasted.
Went out today. Did the double; went to Weston super Mare and Bristol. Felt oddly risky doing this, but honestly I'm not making contact with people. I'm in and out of a few shops, mainly Tesco. The supermarket in town is really the only place to buy stuff. Oddly, with the limited numbers in store, it's much more pleasant. It might be an idea to keep the place operating that way, and ti's not as if there was a huge queue either. Our local Tesco, an express, bullied it's way into the community eight years ago and their prices, for the same things, are ridiculous. They have never satisfactorily explained this disparity.
Even went to Primark for the first time since, well last winter! Pants and socks wait for no man. Fortunately there wasn't a huge queue, or a queue at all. It's strange how otherwise normal everything is. There are people about doing things, interacting (hugging even). There were even people going for a swim in the sea. This is disturbing at the best of times, given how crappy the water is, but in December, in a pandemic? What's next, a rain of frogs? Are these the end times?
I find this juxtaposition jarring; going out is normal. Catching a bus is normal. Seeing people walking through town and doing shopping is normal. Yet behind everything is the pandemic. Not everywhere is open of course, all the cafes and pubs are closed (which personally doesn't bother me). There are massive queues at the post office with people trying to resolve Christmas postage (won't that be fun for the delivery services) and socially distance. It is good to be out and to do things, btu it is not entirely comfortable.
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