Brexit Hell

Donald Tusk is in trouble after asking what that “special place in hell looks like for those who promoted Brexit.” It hasn’t gone down well. Social media collapsed into a predictable frenzy and switchboards on radio talk shows have been lighting up as angry Brexiters phone in to condemn the President of the European Council.

But it got me wondering – what would Brexit hell actually be?

The Old Masters imagined eternal damnation to be a wasteland full of people carrying heavy things. Perhaps the inhabitants of Brexit Hades would be forced to lug enormous blue passports about the place. Presumably there’d be food – an endless diet of cold spam or powdered eggs, for breakfast lunch and dinner. Maybe there’d be shops with empty shelves and asbestos ceilings and nasty coffee that only comes in jars. At night the sinners doss down in tin air raid shelters while death pours from the sky.

I imagine there’d be little colour. A miserable black and white world, where there are only three channels on TV and you spend eternity making phone calls from vandalised boxes that smell strongly of urine and cigarettes.

And of course there would be awful jobs. I mean apart from UKIP MEPs who wants to spend an eternity doing nothing? And Brexit Hell won’t pay for itself no matter what you read on the side of a bus. Maybe you get to do all those nasty jobs our ancestors did just to see how much fun they were. Hard agricultural labour or dangerous and hazardous jobs down the mines.

Brexiters might even get packed off back to school once in a while – to be given a good caning for not getting their sums right, or failing to plan for anything.

For nights out there might be Brexit pubs, run by angry looking Tim Martin impersonators – which close every Sunday and serve a limited range of tasteless beer. Cinema could comprise entirely of Donald Trump’s wretched movie cameos – on a loop – or Jim Davidson doing that ‘hilarious’ Chalky character he used to trot out in the 1970s.

Perhaps if you work hard in Brexit hell you might be lucky enough to get unusual illnesses every now and then; polio or German measles – with the emphasis on the ‘German’ bit.

But hold your Brexit horses. This vision of ghastliness isn’t a Brexit hell is it. It’s the very picture of a Brexit heaven.

Hell for the Brexiters would be a different proposition altogether.

You’d have the terrifying prospect of free movement. The endless damnation of being to live and work and travel wherever you want across a vast swathe of land. A nightmarish hades where workers rights are guaranteed and you get days off. A Perdition of choice and variety. A fiendish domain where cars and electronic items – built to high specifications – actually work. A lurid dystopia where there aren’t pointless wars and you are supported by a welfare state that provides free hospital care when you are sick; a terrifying place – where opportunity is rich and diversity is celebrated.

A place in short that is full of the very things Mr Farage and his chums have been working to dismantle.

Perhaps everything as it is – and let them all suffer. Now there’s an idea.