By Some Tiresome Fucker
Recently I have come to realise that although my friends and I are amazing, Britain is not. For people like me – educated, tall, a skillful yet tender lover – the reality of this country is now too horrible to bear, like a non-ironic Wetherspoon breakfast.
After the thick-necked masses, with their love of rollercoasters and bucket-based chicken meals, voted to sever ties with Europe, my own relationship was irreparably damaged. Although my partner Helena also voted Remain, the situation left us both traumatised and resulted in my fingering her cousin at Womad, probably because of stress.
Now I feel I have little choice but to leave this barbaric cultural wasteland for Canada, which has 93 native varieties of granola, or perhaps Glasgow which is technically still part of the UK but with a thriving indie scene and friendly working class people. Both open-minded places that aren’t jealous of bearded, attractive people or hung up on petty notions of sexual fidelity.
Over the past months, while riding my skateboard on the pavement to my shared creative media workspace, I’ve noticed people muttering ‘prick’ or ‘fucking twat’ behind my back – just typical of the small island mentality of people who go to Asda and read crime thrillers on holiday.
Although you might think little has changed in the past month or so, perhaps that’s because your life has always been fairly shit. I go to theatres, restaurants and cutting edge art exhibitions, so I probably know more than you.
Sorry to leave, Britain, but it’s time to go somewhere less horrible, where people don’t read books just for the story and handsome men can spend £400 on quality knitwear without getting snide comments in the pub.
Anyway my dad has agreed to lend me the money for a warehouse apartment in Vancouver so let’s all go there and have amazing sex until the world realises how we are right about everything.
