Welcome to the Pleasure Dome.
Welcome to the delightful societal revival of the culture of Alf Garnett, of Enoch’s crimson rivers, when the characterisation of tall men of West Indian appearance having Scottish accents was considered hilarious, of that embarrassing show with Jack Smethurst, of a time when John Cleese was actually funny, and before Scottish Tories felt the need to make the rest of us cringe by insulting us whilst carrying out performing seal acts for their masters (There’s clearly a safe seat in the home counties waiting for her when she needs to jump over the side of the departing sovereign Scotland).
Welcome to the country where the conversation you heard in the pub between two drunk halfwits who have spent most of their lives avoiding personal responsibilities, blaming immigrants for the fact that neither of them are employed as brain surgeons, turns out to become government policy.
Welcome to the state where having the ‘correct papers’ available for examination at all times is the norm. All in the interests of keeping you safe, of course.
Welcome to a community where having a ‘foreign sounding’ name will arouse false suspicion and distrust.
Welcome to the renaissance of the Great British Empire, short sharp shocks, military training, cold baths, I vow to thee my country, National Service, ’Jerusalem’, structured elitism from an early age, and fawning hero worship of antiquated royalty.
Welcome to a one-party neo-liberal free-for-all with no checks or balances, and no viable opposition, of a ruthless ferocity never before experienced in modern times, where money, greed and power is all that matters.
Welcome to a society where the vast majority of citizens will continue to be there simply to service and further enrich the elite, and are perpetually spun divisive propaganda to ensure they remain in fear of each other, ill-informed and politically impotent.
Thatcher was mild by comparison.
Welcome to Brexitannia.