|Photo edited by E&M from component photos:Rock Cohen (Flickr); Licence: CC BY 2.0 and Simon Scarfe (Flickr); Licence: CC BY-SA 2.0
Alright magazine land? Dudley Ryder here, I’m your favourite upper-middle class, sexually dysfunctional, socially awkward degenerate, otherwise known as a total lad.
The wise people at E&M have come to me to get the lad’s eye perspective on the upcoming EU referendum. First of all, a little bit about myself. I graduated last year, (2.1 in Art History since you ask) and in my student days I was a regular BNOC Powell. I was captain of the Men’s Lacrosse 2nd team, I got big in the South West London and North Surrey grime scene (you might recognise me as The Rhyme Minister), and last year my hard-hitting documentary on the toilet attendants in clubs who sell aftershave was released after a successful Kickstarter campaign.
Just because I was an all-round Ladosaurus Rex at uni, doesn’t mean I don’t care about the downtrodden little man, the dishevelled, browbeaten common person. No, not Jeremy Corbyn, I’m talking about Britain. I bloody love my country, and so when I sat down to write this after a hard night at Groucho’s, I wanted to have a good think about what the good ol' UK would look like in and out of the EU.
Boris Johnson, a leading figure in the Leave campaign, has a fun-loving reputation.
Don’t get me wrong, I love Europe. Mate, Outlook 2015 was fucking sick. You haven’t lived until you’ve k-holed in a tent in Croatia, with some bird from Belgium, listening to a bit of Shy FX. But you only have to look at both sides of the debate to know where the banter is. The Out Campaign have got Farage who clearly likes a good sesh, Boris 'I only shag women with hilarious names like Petronella' Johnson, and George 'bad sexual etiquette' Galloway. Pretty hard to compete with that eh? Admittedly, David Cameron did shag a pig, which is quite banterous, but it wasn’t even a live one so it hardly counts in my book. I’m sorry, but for me it comes down to which group is going to be the one that, at four o’clock in the morning says, 'Alright, get the gak out, it’s time to smash up a restaurant.'
Now I’ve read a lot of think-pieces about Europe, and my god, what a load of self-indulgent bullshit. Listen, no-one wants to hear your views on the Budget or your cat or whatever. So let’s cut to the chase, here are my thoughts on the issues that matter. This is what you’ll need to know when you walk into the urine-soaked church hall that will be your polling station.
This is a particularly prickly issue, one side saying more than 50% of our exports are going to EU countries, the other side saying if we leave we could negotiate our own trade deals. As far as I’m concerned, the question of trade is one of enabling wealth creators. Specifically, my drug dealer, Pablo. If us leaving the EU means he has to cling to the bottom of a truck just to bring back by ten grams of Colombian marching powder, then he’s definitely gonna bung an extra twenty on my bill. And if my ketamine from Amsterdam gets any pricier, we’ll have to put this horsey back in the stable. Neigh!
Anyone who thinks that this country is in a financial crisis has obviously never been to Fez in Putney on a Friday night. If they did, they’d know that the future looks as bright as the chinos on display there. That’s not to say there aren’t problems: Is British taxpayers’ money funding the lifestyle of Portuguese cod farmers or something?
Now, if there’s one thing I hate it’s people who want to get something for nothing. The other day I got approached by someone trying to raise money for a charity for the donkeys or addicts or something. ‘Look,’ I said to the rep, ‘I worked my arse off to get this internship at Daddy’s media company. Thank God I don’t have to pay rent to stay in Nana’s flat in Goldhawk Road, or I wouldn’t even be able to afford my coke habit. Everyone should be able to stand on their own two feet.’ That goes for you too, Miguel in Porto.
People are always saying immigrants are coming over from Romania and taking our jobs. Good, as far as I’m concerned. Have you ever had to deal with a Cockney man reading your gas meter? I’ve had to watch Up The Junction ten times and get a West Ham season ticket just to work out what the fella’s saying to me. If a surly Hungarian Professor taking a working-class British job means I can stop channelling Dick Van Dyke, I’ll go over to Budapest myself to bring the fuckers back myself. Same goes for Uber. Although if I’m honest I can’t trust black cabs these days anyway, keep worrying I’ll end up in a dodgy porn flick.
|Photo: Ivepictures (Flickr); Licence: CC BY-SA 2.0|
People are always chatting shit and saying that Britain isn’t relevant anymore, or that people only ever talk to us because we’re in Europe. Now, the way I see it, we’re basically like Zayn Malik. Just like Zayn, we were trapped in a big, constricting organisation led by a shadowy bureaucrat in a tight jumper. Like Zayn, we are looking at breaking away and forging our own identity. Unfortunately, this may mean we start producing some weird dance-y shit and alienating all of the people that used to like us, and then we’ll end up crawling back two years later with weird tattoos all over our face. Maybe Iceland will be our weird groupie. Who knows?
I don’t know about you, but I don’t want the bloody French on our borders. It’s a 'non' from me. Also, the fact that Jersey and Guernsey aren’t voting is shady as fuck. I say we get rid of the Channel Islands — flog them to France, whatever really — at the earliest opportunity.
So there you have it. Now you know the issues at stake, it’s time to make your voice heard! And don’t miss my new freestyle rap mixtape, ‘I Brexit On Your Girl While Farage Films’, dropping on Soundcloud in May.
Peace out. Or war out, if that’s your thing.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dudley Ryder is, thankfully, fictional and his half-baked opinions should not be taken seriously.
Any and all correspondence should be directed to E&M's Diaphragm Editors.