As an exporter, the dangers of Brexit were glaringly obvious to me well before the referendum. And for years after that awful result, I did all I could to warn of the coming disaster – blogging, TV and radio appearances, newspaper interviews. Whenever I tried to warn others of the impending shitstorm, I was often met with rudeness, denial, lies, and idiocy. But I tried. I really did.
After years of trying to save everyone else, I gave up and decided to save myself and my family – and once I got to the point where I knew we’d be alright, part of me gave up caring about the damage to come. Brexit robbed me of years of joy, happiness, and good mental health – but not anymore. My mortgage is paid, I have a good stockpile of essentials, and enough money to live on for a few years.
Soon the rubber will hit the road and all the lies will be exposed. The shit pie the Brexiters have ordered will be served. Petty as it may sound, I look forward to watching them choke it down and pretend to enjoy it.
My family and I will not be partaking.
Fig and Pen 