Is there any humour left in the country?

Can we no longer assume we will be met by some degree of civility when we say ‘I disagree’? Does anyone give sound reasons when asked ‘why do you think and believe that’, other than by repeating lies told by those with vested interests?

Does no one smile any more?

In the space of a few weeks the country has lost the spirit of tolerance, the willingness to understand and the art of civilised argument, all because we are asked to vote on STAY/LEAVE Europe.

When did we reach the point when we decided to shout, to abuse, to call everyone who disagrees a liar, to pummel experts as charlatans because they do not give the answer we want them to give? Was there a vote on this change that I missed? Who thought up this new brand of ‘democratic debate’?

We might as well be among the group of face-painted supporters at a Euro 2016 football match shouting for our team and belittling the other team, the referee, the linesmen and, while we are at it, the bloke who cut the grass, the bus driver who brought us to the ground, the people who live in the area around the stadium and those in the town and in the country where the tournament is being held and all because they are not standing next to us shouting whatever it is our tribe is chanting?

By the way, what are we chanting? What football? We are interested only in winning or losing because we am standing with other members of our tribe here. We will only lose because the other side and their supporters, that includes the referee, are cheating my tribe out of something or other that someone or other says is important because they will make a lot of money out of it. I can live on pride and fresh air while they sail off in their new yacht.

We are asked, “What has any other tribe done for you and your tribe?”

We said, “Given us peace!”

“Well apart from peace, what has any other tribe given you?”

We answered, “Protection from moneyed interests who demean and take advantage of us!”

“Well apart from ….”

Monty Python where are you when we need you?

According to the best predictors – the bookies and those into spread betting – the decision will be close. On Friday morning some official type person will stand up and announce, “The numbers are as follows: xyz million voted IN/OUT which means 45% says IN/OUT and 40% says IN/OUT. The other 15% couldn’t be bothered, or were in Glastonbury, or visiting their sick aunt who might leave them her house when she dies if they play their cards right. Therefore as a democracy, as all these daft politicians have been going on about for the past few weeks, everyone will accept the result as fair and binding. So for the last time, I declare that IN/OUT won and therefore we are all SAVED/BUGGERED and I’m heading home for a cup of tea and a good long kip. I’ve been up all night and my feet are killing me.”

What do you do on Friday morning if you are on the side that WON/LOST?

How about starting with a smile, making an effort to get back to being tolerant, giving a shrug and a grin that says ‘let’s get on with life now that all that shit is out of the way’?

A Plea

Would the woman come back who put a leaflet through my door today telling me that everyone in my road was voting to leave. By the time I found my shoes and ran after you, you had disappeared.

I wanted to ask you how do you know that statistic? Why do you think that telling me what everyone is doing will influence me? Do you normally tell lies in print? Syd in number 97 and Ethel in 69 and the whole family in the caravan at the back of 103 are voting Stay. Charlie on the corner says he is voting for Winston Churchill and the return of hanging. The three old lads in the pub will vote for whichever side brings back fox hunting.

Anyway, you are too late. I posted my vote last week. I wanted to get it in, in case anything lethal happened to me on my way to the polling station, or in case I was arrested for assaulting one of those interfering busybodies outside the polling station demanding to know my name and which way I intend to vote.

It would be comforting to know that my vote might make a difference from beyond the grave, or if I was in a police cell drinking a cup of their foul tea.

Now that would make me smile.