Remember the old parlour game: Pass the Parcel”? It has morphed back into fashion: now rebranded as a Parliamentary Parlour Game called: “Reframe Brexit”.
The “LEAVE” majority parcel has been passed about in frenzy because many know that “the Prize” could be a “booby”! Not what you wanted… As if you had any idea before… And then, how would you be remembered: with Pride or Shame.
So let it be: with Brexit… a word that, itself, is transformed into a ‘booby prize’.
A local newspaper columnist, Ben Travato, asserted recently that “Referendum” is Latin for: “Let the morons decide.” Similar statements have recently been made about Democracy itself; albeit in Democracies it would seem the “moron” element are those already chosen: as the random socmed stuff that’s trending routinely in one’s In- basket spaces suggests.
So it seems, when one looks at the curious antics of British legislators, over a past series of debates and votes, about whether it is better to submit to generational servitude as a vassal state, appended to the European venture… Or crash off a cliff into a void, for which the country is about as well equipped as say…. “Pass the parcel”….
OK. One can’t really say. There are no real precedents for a modern developed nation state, deciding on some seemingly mercurial whim, to cut intimate ties with its biggest market; in fact the world’s biggest market: in order to….. “Pass the Parcel!”
So again: one can’t really say… All we’ve heard, by way of preparation, are odd random slogans that have a weird sameness to the desperate slogans of the late Soviet era or the late Saddam’s late voice meister.
The latest slogan indicating that desperation measures are up, to avoid being the last schmuck standing. This sees opposing [English not British} teams joining in the latest `MANTRA”: National Unity… paraded with desperate conviction that the country could survive being abruptly plunged into a ravening sharkpool.
Who wants to be blamed?
On one hand there is the great historical heritage: on the old slippery slope. On the other hand there is a humongous burden of care.
So… “Pass the Parcel”… quickly: before the bell rings to clock time out.
What they are proposing is at heart a Revolution… A “tide of times taken at the flood” that might just possibly lead on to Fortune… But while they played Parcels the tide went out…
So. What will it be? … Quick: “Pass the Parcel!”
Again… No One knows. The world is faced with the enigma of the whole insane business… And that is somehow scarily close to what moronic was originally defined to mean.
As the old cliché goes… When you fail to plan then you plan to fail … Has Mrs. May opted for a form of masochistic, vengeful- self-immolation… disguised as free choice. “My choice” or the Highway…
Or could there be a more simple truth: separation anxiety rules.
Quick… “Pass the Parcel.”
To be continued.
Meanwhile diarise: #Data must share rent.