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So...

Silly Walk …as far as I can tell I’m good friends with 3 Brexiteers. And I’m fairly sure even if my old dear didn’t vote out, everyone else in her circle will have. Well, you got what you wanted. Good luck, an all that.

I woke up yesterday morning with a sick feeling in my stomach, was glued online watching the markets plummet, then rally, doing rough calculations as to how much I’d lost. Social media being the echo chamber that it is, I was surrounded by unhappy voices. But when I went to bed I was just feeling sad. I’m not going to be there to watch the UK morph into what ever it’s going to become. My guess would be - at best - devo max for Scotland. An English parliament. A re-united Ireland. But very real recession, job losses, more right-wing facism and the last gasps of neolibralism. Hopefully I’m wrong about most of that. Whatever shape it does all take, it’s going to be different. When I step off the plane in the future I won’t be landing in a country I have a stake in. That home I grew up in will be well and truly gone in a couple of years.

The Brexiteers will make something new, it might be better, it might be worse, but it definitely won’t be mine. It’s won’t be the land of laws, nations and history that I left. I shouldn’t really care, after all I don’t live there, but the sense of loss is real. It’s like leaving home as a kid, except your parents decided to sell the house. The house will still be there, but a different family will be looking out of the windows.

Good luck UK.