So here we are. After what feels like years of campaigning, the polling stations will open less than 24 hours from now on what will be one of the most momentous decisions the country has ever undertaken.
At present I feel a bit like someone who has been told he might have cancer, but the results will be given to me over the next 48 hours. At the end of that time span, I could be told I am going to die – or I could be told it is all clear. If people think I’m exaggerating for effect, I’m not. I genuinely think Brexit would be a total disaster. I could be wrong about that, but I don’t really want to ever find out for sure.
What’s new? The polls remain neck in neck and it is impossible to know how accurate they really are anyhow. It feels like a narrow Remain win is coming – but there is every chance that everyone has it totally wrong. There are all sorts of things to keep a Remainer placid with a sense of impending victory: the “status quo” bounce that is expected, the “quiet Remainer” theory on the polls, the long and proud history of the British people threatening to stick it to the man before deciding not to at the last moment. But all of these things could be nonsense in the end.
I can only hope that the people of this country decide to do the right thing. The problems that have provoked this Brexit feeling – the perceived problems with immigration, English nationalism – need to be addressed, but leaving the EU isn’t the answer. It is the equivalent of dealing with a major life problem by getting tragically drunk. You just make yourself feel worse, and the problem is still there anyhow.
I’m as ready as I’ll ever be for the diagnosis. So bring it on. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, and all of that. There isn’t anything more to say until we know which way we’re headed.