Ever since Friday’s Glorious Victory, one of the chief recreation activities of we Brexiters of a childish bent has been the Taunting Of The Remnants, mostly online. ‘How are you comforting yourself?’ one Facebook post asked. ‘In the usual way – with the tears of the vanquished,’ I replied. ONLY ONE LIKE!
For self-proclaimed ‘progressives’, what a bunch of doom-mongering, curtain-twitching, tut-tutting stick-in-the-muds they’ve proved to be! For this Remnant Zombie Army, out to do in our brains with their bed-wetting ways and bleats for more referenda until they get the result they want, everything that goes wrong over the next few months – the weather, the football – will be Brexit’s fault...
Coffee House
The Brexit divide wasn’t between young and old, but Ponces and Non-Ponces
Julie Burchill
Julie Burchill
27 June 2016
The Spectator
Ever since Friday’s Glorious Victory, one of the chief recreation activities of we Brexiters of a childish bent has been the Taunting Of The Remnants, mostly online. ‘How are you comforting yourself?’ one Facebook post asked. ‘In the usual way – with the tears of the vanquished,’ I replied. ONLY ONE LIKE!
For self-proclaimed ‘progressives’, what a bunch of doom-mongering, curtain-twitching, tut-tutting stick-in-the-muds they’ve proved to be! For this Remnant Zombie Army, out to do in our brains with their bed-wetting ways and bleats for more referenda until they get the result they want, everything that goes wrong over the next few months – the weather, the football – will be Brexit’s fault. And yes, it will be irksome at a time when this country needs to put its best foot forward and proceed with the merry dance of freedom. But I’m not worried that they’ll do us much harm in the long run – because, basically, they’re such a bunch of ponces.
We have been told that the vote – and the nation – is divided between rich and poor and young and old but frankly I believe that the biggest divide was between Ponces (Remain) and Non-Ponces (Leave). When I use the word ‘ponce’ I refer not to the gayers (bless ‘em) but to people who really believe that they are inherently better than others. I found this pleasing definition online:
The snowflakes quickly began demanding that London – Ponce Central – be allowed to secede from the rest of this churlish isle, with just a unicorn-shuttle-service to keep them connected to Scotland. The prospect of getting shot of 99 per cent of man-buns and clean-eaters in one fell swoop was almost parasexually thrilling, but as Suzanne Moore pointed out in an excellent piece in the Guardian, what did these Little Londoners plan to do with the whopping 40 per cent of Londoners who voted Leave? There are two nations in London itself, one doing the dirty work of the other, unseen and unheard – and nowhere is safe now from the wrath of the wraiths.
As well as the Passport To Pimlico Ponces, we had the legions of sobbing Remnant Child Ponces who were all doing a very good impersonation of Violet Elizabeth Bott if the Facebook updates of their doting, if distressed, parents were anything to go by:
During the course of this splendid campaign, every Ponce in Christendom seems to have stuck his patrician nose about the parapet, sniffed the Great Unwashed and called on the waddling geese of Strasbourg to stand between them and us ruffians. Luvvies and musicians (acting and music being two former escape routes for we chavs now colonised by public school spawn) of course, identity politics social justice warriors (writing the most currently disadvantaged people around – white working class males – out of history, one gripe at a time) naturally. And Eddie Izzard! There have never been a greater number of people I’ve loathed who have been made to cry all at once.
It’s like being a kid again. My friend Karl – a gay Welsh working-class self-made multi-millionaire socialist Brexiter living in Brighton: make a pie chart out of that, pollsters! – said to me on victory morning ‘It’s really exciting, like when Labour won an election when we were young!’ The Remnants will never understand that, and that’s another reason why they’re so out of touch. Yes, maybe our side are motivated by a desire to shake things up, but what’s so bad about that?
Like a lot of celebrity grief-mongering, I can’t help thinking that a lot of those currently *mourning* are actually mourning their own dashed dreams – dashed due to their own personal limitations – and projecting this onto a grander scenario. Prince, Bowie, Pinky and Perky – THE EUROPEAN DREAM! Well – like poor Rufus – they’ve really got something to cry about now. It is widely accepted that Brexit happened because the people of England and Wales – the chavs, townies, Tommies – no longer felt like holding patiently still and taking the punches of outrageous fortune and cheap foreign labour, as they have been trained to do, but rather turned around and finally served it to the Establishment. The pathetic petulance which has come from the Remnants in the face of this victory stems from the fact that many of those who prided themselves on being progressive were, actually, differently-styled parts of the Establishment all along. We have finally called them out on this – as well as on being cowards, and conservatives – and, of course, as right royal ponces.
The Brexit divide wasn't between young and old, but Ponces and Non-Ponces | Coffee House
For self-proclaimed ‘progressives’, what a bunch of doom-mongering, curtain-twitching, tut-tutting stick-in-the-muds they’ve proved to be! For this Remnant Zombie Army, out to do in our brains with their bed-wetting ways and bleats for more referenda until they get the result they want, everything that goes wrong over the next few months – the weather, the football – will be Brexit’s fault...
Coffee House
The Brexit divide wasn’t between young and old, but Ponces and Non-Ponces
Julie Burchill
Julie Burchill
27 June 2016
The Spectator
Ever since Friday’s Glorious Victory, one of the chief recreation activities of we Brexiters of a childish bent has been the Taunting Of The Remnants, mostly online. ‘How are you comforting yourself?’ one Facebook post asked. ‘In the usual way – with the tears of the vanquished,’ I replied. ONLY ONE LIKE!
For self-proclaimed ‘progressives’, what a bunch of doom-mongering, curtain-twitching, tut-tutting stick-in-the-muds they’ve proved to be! For this Remnant Zombie Army, out to do in our brains with their bed-wetting ways and bleats for more referenda until they get the result they want, everything that goes wrong over the next few months – the weather, the football – will be Brexit’s fault. And yes, it will be irksome at a time when this country needs to put its best foot forward and proceed with the merry dance of freedom. But I’m not worried that they’ll do us much harm in the long run – because, basically, they’re such a bunch of ponces.
We have been told that the vote – and the nation – is divided between rich and poor and young and old but frankly I believe that the biggest divide was between Ponces (Remain) and Non-Ponces (Leave). When I use the word ‘ponce’ I refer not to the gayers (bless ‘em) but to people who really believe that they are inherently better than others. I found this pleasing definition online:
1
ponce about/around
British informal. Behave in an affected or ineffectual way:
‘I ponced around in front of the mirror’
2
ponce something up
British informal. Make overly elaborate and unnecessary changes to something in an attempt to improve it:
‘They would not let the food alone, they had to ponce it up in some way or other.’
I’m using Ponce in a class-war way, I suppose. Reading between the lines regarding the contempt Remain had for the white working-class, I had a feeling that as soon as Brexit scented victory the C-word would not be long in coming. And sure enough in the Sunday Times account of Glastonbury, ‘’The chavs have won, mate,’ one cut-glass raver told his mate. ‘I’m already looking into dual citizenship.’’ Elsewhere in the paper a Brighton Remnant commented ‘If you give a vote to every man and his dog, you have to be prepared for the answer you get.’ WELCOME TO CHAV BRITAIN was a friend of a friend’s FB status the morning of the result. ponce about/around
British informal. Behave in an affected or ineffectual way:
‘I ponced around in front of the mirror’
2
ponce something up
British informal. Make overly elaborate and unnecessary changes to something in an attempt to improve it:
‘They would not let the food alone, they had to ponce it up in some way or other.’
The snowflakes quickly began demanding that London – Ponce Central – be allowed to secede from the rest of this churlish isle, with just a unicorn-shuttle-service to keep them connected to Scotland. The prospect of getting shot of 99 per cent of man-buns and clean-eaters in one fell swoop was almost parasexually thrilling, but as Suzanne Moore pointed out in an excellent piece in the Guardian, what did these Little Londoners plan to do with the whopping 40 per cent of Londoners who voted Leave? There are two nations in London itself, one doing the dirty work of the other, unseen and unheard – and nowhere is safe now from the wrath of the wraiths.
As well as the Passport To Pimlico Ponces, we had the legions of sobbing Remnant Child Ponces who were all doing a very good impersonation of Violet Elizabeth Bott if the Facebook updates of their doting, if distressed, parents were anything to go by:
‘Stella asked me this morning, Mama I can see you are sad, what happened?’
I had no idea how to explain it to her, and so my little daughter who is oblivious to the implications on her future, cuddled and stroked me, reducing me to tears.
I promise you Stella and Sven, we will do whatever is necessary to ensure that you have a free, open future full of colourful opportunities.
This is my pledge to you. This is my job as your parent.
You can safely trust me.’
I also enjoyed the status which informed me that a little Remnant boy called ‘Rufus” had bleated ‘I’m scared of the future, Mummy’; he’s scared of the future because she called him Rufus, obvs. When an awful Tory Remnant M.P told the story of how his ‘half-German’ son burst into tears on hearing the result, my delight was complete. British Democracy: Making Children Cry Since 1918.I had no idea how to explain it to her, and so my little daughter who is oblivious to the implications on her future, cuddled and stroked me, reducing me to tears.
I promise you Stella and Sven, we will do whatever is necessary to ensure that you have a free, open future full of colourful opportunities.
This is my pledge to you. This is my job as your parent.
You can safely trust me.’
During the course of this splendid campaign, every Ponce in Christendom seems to have stuck his patrician nose about the parapet, sniffed the Great Unwashed and called on the waddling geese of Strasbourg to stand between them and us ruffians. Luvvies and musicians (acting and music being two former escape routes for we chavs now colonised by public school spawn) of course, identity politics social justice warriors (writing the most currently disadvantaged people around – white working class males – out of history, one gripe at a time) naturally. And Eddie Izzard! There have never been a greater number of people I’ve loathed who have been made to cry all at once.
It’s like being a kid again. My friend Karl – a gay Welsh working-class self-made multi-millionaire socialist Brexiter living in Brighton: make a pie chart out of that, pollsters! – said to me on victory morning ‘It’s really exciting, like when Labour won an election when we were young!’ The Remnants will never understand that, and that’s another reason why they’re so out of touch. Yes, maybe our side are motivated by a desire to shake things up, but what’s so bad about that?
Like a lot of celebrity grief-mongering, I can’t help thinking that a lot of those currently *mourning* are actually mourning their own dashed dreams – dashed due to their own personal limitations – and projecting this onto a grander scenario. Prince, Bowie, Pinky and Perky – THE EUROPEAN DREAM! Well – like poor Rufus – they’ve really got something to cry about now. It is widely accepted that Brexit happened because the people of England and Wales – the chavs, townies, Tommies – no longer felt like holding patiently still and taking the punches of outrageous fortune and cheap foreign labour, as they have been trained to do, but rather turned around and finally served it to the Establishment. The pathetic petulance which has come from the Remnants in the face of this victory stems from the fact that many of those who prided themselves on being progressive were, actually, differently-styled parts of the Establishment all along. We have finally called them out on this – as well as on being cowards, and conservatives – and, of course, as right royal ponces.
The Brexit divide wasn't between young and old, but Ponces and Non-Ponces | Coffee House
) That might be the way to go although I have friends I do want to see. Think like you any plans will wait until all of this settles down.
