Saturday, 17 November 2018

HOW TO BURY THE BREXIT – by Patrick Brigham

Michael Gove has been offered the job of Brexit secretary in the wake of Dominic Raab’s resignation, as Theresa May battles to shore up her authority, but he is demanding a shift in the government’s negotiating strategy first, Whitehall sources say. Although he declined the offer, he agreed to support Mays proposals, but that was yesterday. Today he has changed his mind once more, and a very junior minister has taken his place, and now Gove is trying to gang up with the extremists. With friends like that, who needs enemy's? 

After two or more years of gobbledegook - alternative facts, psychotic events, imperialist nostalgia, wishful thinking, political fiction, and downright lies – we now get to the bit where logic, facts and reality, at last, get an honest hearing.

So, how do you make sure that Brexit has finally “shuffled off this mortal coil, is no more, has had its last squawk, fallen off its perch and is f****** dead?” Auntie Theresa has the answer. Rely upon the support, for the final Brexit negotiation, of the silliest politician in parliament, Michael Gove.

A man renowned for his huge vanity, obsessive self-serving, and nascent perfidy, who else could good old Theresa manipulate and cajole into taking part, other than - Bojo’s old friend and Co-conspirator - the puffed up Michael Gove. Yes, Prime Minister, with a final Coup De Gras, who better to lay some of the blame on for future failure, than UKs most ardent Brexiteer and disingenuous spin doctor?

I have said all along that May was playing a clever game, and that by extolling the virtues of Brexit, she was actually damning it. How else do you bury such a profound schism, other than by standing next to the cliff edge, and encouraging everyone to jump?

But, even the nostalgic British are not mad enough to jump on a whim, nor a blind person to cross the street without being convinced the road was clear, which it obviously isn’t. In the next few weeks, even the dumbest amongst us will have to try to understand the facts, and retreat from this mindless and bloody dangerous cliff edge.

I wouldn’t like to play poker with Theresa May, would you? But, even though you admire her courage and brinkmanship, it may well have cost her job as Prime Minister. Against all odds, she did do a thoroughly statesman like job, and didn’t she do well?

Tuesday, 13 November 2018

On To The Next Book - by Patrick Brigham

Autumn is over in Northern Greece, the signs of winter are approaching, and I now have to light my pellet stove in the evening, to keep warm. But that is not the only change, because once again as an author, I am moving away from my usual murder mystery genre with another stand-alone novel, and into the realms of literary fiction. Why the change, I should explain?
I had a life before moving to South Eastern Europe, and I had a life before I moved to London in the 70s. In fact, when I seriously started writing in the late 80s, I believed that the past was all there was. My then warts and all novel was to be about my early life, a rather haphazard marriage, the tragedy of an early divorce, the consequence of near bankruptcy, and my ultimate comeback.
As a young man, it was hard enough for me to deal with all these problems then, but later on it became even harder for me to write about it; I was still far too close. This all happened nearly forty years ago, well before my first attempted at this cathartic novel, which I fondly imagined was going to knock the world of publishing dead. But then I put it away, filed it under the past, and then promptly forgot about it.

Recently opening a bulging box file, having first removed the dust and cobwebs, I rediscovered the early attempt of my great novel, only to find that – far from being cathartic and serious – it was rather funny. From the typed foxed pages, there seemed to be a very little tragedy in my early life, just change. Through the consoling prism of maturity, it now transpires that things which once hurt me, now only amuse me. ‘Did that really happen? What a fool I must have been?’

What was good, was to rediscover strong characterization, and even a good plot. After all, it was my fictionalized history, so there must have an element of truth in it, although, my warts and all prospectus seemed very little like the new me. Perhaps, after all,  the book is about misplaced ambition, youthful endeavour, romantic fantasy, jealousy, rage and intrigue? Or maybe, it is a book that explains how we all feel when we are young, fall in love and make mistakes. I will ask you again in a few months time when it is finished!