yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away
With the countdown to Brexit Britain now being measured in hours (600 for the record) and a potentially cataclysmic cliff-edge becoming increasingly more likely, it’s perhaps opportune to take a leisurely stroll down memory lane to those gentle bygone days of 2016 when we were told everything, and anything, was possible. Oh, how I miss those sweet nothings being whispered in my innocent ear.
Back then there was no talk of Failing Grayling and his out-of-court £33m legal settlement with Eurotunnel for the illegal allocation of contracts with ferry companies that had no ferries, a £171m taxpayers’ bill for his bodged probation reforms, of the stockpiling of medicine and tinned mackerel, or the spending of billions in the run-up to the no-deal departure. No, along with BoJo’s delusional ‘fish and chip’ quip (they’ll sell less Prosecco to us so we’ll sell less fish and chips to them) it was all about the lottery-esque battle-bus £350m a week bonanza for the NHS, and how they needed us more than we needed them. Well, as it’s going to turn out they don’t. Having spent the last two years tearing ourselves apart we’re clearly going to see that the EU have spent the time a tad more wisely in sorting out precisely how they’re going to sell more Prosecco to their other very close, highly supportive, and legally-bound twenty-six partners, Man, how I’d like to join that club.
In 2016 there was nothing to worry about and Diamond David (Davis) soothed my fevered brow with wise and tender words “Within two years we can negotiate a free trade area massively larger than the EU, and give us a trade area twice the size of the EU”. Phew, thanks, Dave, you had me worried then for a second. Notwithstanding the fact that it was technically illegal to even discuss this with any nation, let alone sign anything, he was confident that China and the US is where our future lay, not the tiddlers a mere twenty-two miles over the Channel. And what exactly did Obama know when he castigated us for the lunacy of brexit and pointed out we would be “at the back of the queue” when negotiating with The Donald. Pah.
So, as Dave’s two planned premier partners continue to go head-to-head over trade sanctions and international embargos, how’s it looking for little ol’ us?
Last week we saw Tiny Hands walk away from talks that did not go his way. Team Trump does not operate in the manner of any of its predecessors and prefers not to adhere to any previous norm or acknowledge accepted wisdom: it’s my way or the high way. (And, sadly, my money’s also on a second term.) When recently discussing our potential services exchange the US insisted on the removal of all our existing (European) barriers but demanded theirs remain in situ, forcing the Centre for European Reform to comment “It’s laughably one-sided.” Furthermore, it has been officially noted that with his ‘America First’ dictat the great man is not happy, not happy at all, with the UK thinking it can do deals with China without either his consent or approval. So much for taking back control. Personally, and at the risk of sounding like Stormy Daniels, I’d sooner be in bed with twenty-seven consenting adults than one boy-man dictator.
And for what? Our own government highlights the best we could aim for via a US trade agreement is a 0.3% uplift to GDP, versus the predicted hit of somewhere between 4%(at best) and 8%. Uh oh, do the math. The stark reality of our situation is that brexit didn’t make any commercial sense in 2016 and it makes even less now. The belief that for a better generational future we should abandon the largest ever free trade area for a vision of an unobtainable utopia was either misguided or criminal. I’ll leave the final words to a man many regard as the instigator/architect of our woeful position, Naughty Nigel, who took to the airwaves last week and explained that, if the eventual choice was between May’s deal to leave or remain, he “wouldn’t campaign or vote but would rather go on holiday.” To the states I suspect and missing you already, Nige.
