Lots of people have recently become upset at the kind of language being used in arguments about Brexit.
It’s true that sometimes it can get pretty nasty. But our Prime Minister urges us to be optimistic, so instead of bemoaning the bad language, maybe we should celebrate it. Could it perhaps transform our lives and actually make things better?
Remember the days when if a waiter asked you how you’d enjoyed your goddamn stinking, terrible meal, you’d say, “Oh, fine thanks, it was lovely”? Well, now you can just scream, “Eat that crap? I’d rather be dead in a ditch.” It will do you no end of good.
There’s not much in life that can’t be enhanced by a bit of heightened Brexit-like rhetoric.
Let’s say you normally get your online groceries from Ocado but decide to try out Sainsbury’s. Nothing wrong with that, but don’t be surprised if the Ocado man spots you on the street, calls you a traitor and describes your Sainsbury’s bill as a surrender document.
Don’t be upset. He’s just being refreshingly honest and letting you know how he feels. Make your own position clear by calling him a chlorinated chicken, pelting him with past-their-sell-by-date avocados, and telling him you’re leaving him do or die, no ifs or buts.
Now that words are the weapons du jour we can wield them freely without worrying about what effect they may have. So, go on, take a knife to other people’s feelings: call your mum a Nazi, crash out from saying please and thank you, and compare your neighbour’s overhanging apple tree to Napoleon’s conquest of Europe.
And where once we might have found ourselves waiting outside a cool eatery in Shoreditch, forming an orderly queue and being nice to one another, now it’s okay to stride to the front of the line, call the bearded hipster in front of you a big girl’s blouse, and push him into the gutter. If he dares to protest, just explain you’re taking back control.
Yes, thanks to this new energy we can cast off the shackles of reticence and embrace aggression. We’re all the angry Hulk, with torn trousers, rejecting the outdated linguistic restraints that for so long have enslaved the people of Britain.
If your six-year-old daughter accidentally breaks a teacup, don’t forgive her — have it printed on a T-shirt that she’s a ruthless saboteur (you can still ban her from watching Octonauts).
And should an Italian tourist ask you for directions to Oxford Street, don’t waste 30 seconds of your life helping her, just laugh in her face and say you don’t collude with foreign powers.
Oh, and one more thing: if your wife comes home all upset because she got groped at some work party escape room event, just shout “Humbug!” and offer her a no-deal divorce. Deep down you always knew she was an enemy of the people.
Tom Mitchelson and Alistair Beaton are authors of The Little Book of Brexit Bollocks
Story sourced from – Evening Standard