The Rogues

After spending a whole week in Ireland and England, during which both the weather and politics were disgraceful, I concluded that the U.K. is having a miserable June.

I flew out of a cold and wet Belfast, and by the time I got to Paddington the rain was coming down in sheets. Even the Ubers were begging off—it took three attempts before a Romanian in a silver Mercedes made it to the pick-up point.

The other two drivers who pulled out were also foreign, as was the waiter who brought me dinner, all the receptionists at the hotel, and most of the staff in the office block where my meetings took place.

Later in the day, when Bojo, as Private Eye calls him, took a significant lead in the hustings to become leader of the Tory Party, and therefore prime minister of the U.K., I heard Boris senior on the BBC. Stanley is an avid attention-seeker, and he was more than happy to comment on Bojo to Auntie Beeb.

‘Have you spoken with your son yet, Mr. Johnson?’

‘No, but he sent a message using something called WhatsApp. It’s a new thing, have you heard of it?’ he asked the interviewer (who replied ‘No’).

The Boris team is keeping the Beano-like character under wraps because the man has two things in common with Trump—crazy hair and a natural bent for shooting himself in the foot.

In Private Eye, Boris and his acolytes are often displayed as a set of Beano characters.

With such a significant lead (114 votes, to 43 for his closest contender, Jeremy Hunt), the best thing for Bojo is to keep his mouth shut to avoid clangers.

After the Conservative Party received the trouncing of a lifetime at the hands of Farage’s Brexit Party—the irony that it happened in the vote for the European elections, which the UK should by then not have been a part of, was missed by no one—many feel that stonewalling Brexit will be the end of the Tories.

As I dealt with both business and pleasure in London, it again and again became apparent that the transport and hospitality industry will collapse without foreigners. I recurrently heard Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, as well as the languages of Eastern Europe—you’ll hear them in many key sectors of British society, of which the NHS is the most important.

Nevertheless, the people have spoken, so leave England must, dragging with it the whole of the UK—of the other three, only Wales (pop. 3 million) voted to leave.

The EU set a limit date for Halloween (who says Brussels doesn’t have a sense of humor), and all the Tories running (of which there are really only three or four in the running) strenuously emphasize that Britain will leave—the degree of stridency about leaving without a deal is what sets them apart.

How easy is it to leave without a deal?

To analyze the question, let’s first look at the opposite—leaving with a deal. Theresa May failed miserably in her attempts to do so, Brussels has repeatedly stated there will be no further negotiation, and Boris is intensely disliked by the European Union.

Some of the other contenders for the Tory leadership have been involved in the Brexit negotiations—they all know exactly what’s achievable, i.e. nothing. In their hearts, the British also know this.

The House of Commons will not support the current deal. But will also not support a no-deal exit. One of the ironies of this process is that many Labour constituencies who voted leave have a ‘remain’ member of parliament. Those MPs, who sit in Westminster, are stuck between a rock and a hard place—they are fully aware that their constituents will crucify them.

If those MPs back a no-deal, the consequences for livelihoods of their voting base will be considerable—the voters will blame them and throw them out. If the MPs do the opposite, their voters will react with fury—betrayed by their representative, who will be thrown out.

Unfortunately, for the conservatives, much the same is coming. If parliament finally approves the same deal (since no other deal is likely), hard-line Brexiteers will be incensed. If it doesn’t, and Johnson forces a hard Brexit, a general election is almost inevitable.

To force a hard brexit against the will of the politicians, the only option is to prorogue parliament—effectively suspending it over the limit date so MPs cannot block the withdrawal. The main (pro)rogue, Dominic Raab, is out of the race, but there are still a few rogues left.

The debates have been appalling, without a glimmer of an idea. Today, only four candidates are left, and by tomorrow we’ll be down to Bojo and Hunt. Of course, it may be that the usual Tory skulduggery steps in and chucks the current second, replacing him with Gove or even Sajid Javid—Rory Stewart was apparently only carried through so Tories could hear him debate.

Historically, as both Thatcher and Major discovered when they beat the front runner, the top dog doesn’t win—maybe when the vote goes out to the Conservative Associations the  curse will rise again.

Whoever wins, the exchange rate of the pound will flutter on the wings of the forthcoming discussions, reflecting ebb and flood. The coming months are short—July means vacation time in northern Europe, August is the same in the south—before we know it, there’ll be trick-or-treat.

One or the other, but not both. Five days after Halloween is Guy Fawkes night—maybe this time the houses of parliament really will blow up.

The India Road, Atmos Fear, Clear Eyes, and Folk Tales For Future Dreamers. QR links for smartphones and tablets.

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