Referendum

Marylebone Station

Just woke up. Before it fades to oblivion must write down my dream, about our great national Referendum, due in a few days’ time. Shall the UK stay in the EU or leave it? I’m as strong for leaving the European Union as I was strong for Scotland to stay in the United Kingdom, when the Scots had their referendum not so long ago. Our union has lasted since 1707 so far, and from my point of view nothing was broke enough to need fixing. Why did some of them push to go it alone? Emotion, cussedness and greed, I guess—the latter based on the notion of keeping the tax on their oil & gas revenues. That was then, before the prices dropped & put the industry at risk.

And what about our EU referendum? Is it not also driven by emotion, cussedness and greed? Not to mention the bogus forecasts on both sides, offered in lieu of facts. Che sarà, sarà, the future’s not ours to see, what will be will be. So we must vote on principle. We should never have joined. Let us lead our brethren out of the forty-year wilderness, ditch the manna, go for the milk and honey, get our own land back, not a promised land—don’t believe any promises! Do what’s right and trust. Enough.

I dreamt I was in our town centre, a rather fine one which I didn’t recognize. It looked more like somewhere in London, a sloping cobbled square with buildings around, reminiscent of Marylebone railway station. There was a rally of Remain campaigners, who seeemed pleasant enough but not being of their persuasion, I wondered whether to declare myself their opponent, or let it go.

view of our own town centre

Then (still in the dream!) I was back home and someone was at the door. It was a couple of those Remain campaigners, shyly canvassing. Being otherwise occupied, I called to K to see what they wanted. The next thing I knew, two of them had gone upstairs, chattering easily, making themselves at home, going through the various things strewn there. I said, “Hey, those aren’t your things!” They just smiled. We had two lodgers in our adjoining spare rooms, young fellows about 18. They’d just woken, and gazed out with vague amusement at the invasion.

K must have let them in, she’s so friendly I could well imagine it. I would have to be the one to put my foot down and say “Leave!” And so I did. I wanted to act Mr Nasty & shout, let them flee in haste without looking back, but couldn’t manage it. I simply smiled and held the door open. To my astonishment seven “intruders” came down the stairs, and then after an interval two more, reluctantly. They liked our house so much. The cheek! As for our lodgers, K had never told me about them. I’d do well to stay out of that business.

I suppose this is what my unconscious mind has to say about the risks of unrestricted immigration.