FOR the sake of posterity, I had better acknowledge in this issue that we have left the EU. The immediate question is what to do with the signs around the farm? These proclaim the generosity of the EU for funding various ‘schemes’ under the familiar blue-and-gold flag (thereby letting the neighbours know what a subsidy junkie I have been).
I consider taking them down and storing them safely so that I can fondly imagine my great-grandchildren taking them on the Antiques Roadshow: ‘Back in the early 21st century, before laboratory food, there were people called farmers, who were paid public money for public food by an empire called the European Union and then along came Brexit and the British Government changed the policy to public money for public goods.’ However, my instinctive fear of officialdom prevents me, in case some apparatchik of the Green State comes and asks for all the money back.
Stepping out of the Farmers’ Club onto the pavements of Whitehall, I realise that Homo rusticus has evolved differently in his outer skin from H. urbanus. The soles of my shoes are letting in water, something that never happens at home, as H. rusticus wears shoes indoors and wellies outdoors.
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