The Last English Porter: A Brexit Story Part 1 - BDay

I awoke to seriously heavy rain, thumping down on the corrugated pot tile roof of the loft. Ten minutes later, I went downstairs and was greeted with the site of the factory floor completely flooded, one man doing his best to stem the water's rising
'What happened?'
'Drain's blocked. Bloody thing!'
Boxes floated about, sandbags were employed, mops and buckets deployed, all hands who later entered literally called to the pump.
'I'm going on the roof!' Jake resolutely stated. I protested, it was still hammering down and the roof became seriously treacherous in the wet. 'Bah! It's a family tradition. Besides, if I don't clear those leaves from the drains upstairs will flood too and BioPharm will be all over my back!'
'Well I'm coming with you, someone has to tell your missus how you stupidly died'

It took over an hour for Jake to clear the leaves. I'd seen him disappear over the near side gable end while I stood in the gutter above the main factory hall, holding the ladder. We called out to each other frequently. Well more I called to him. At least he admitted it was scary when we eventually came back down. I was bricking it myself. Still it was tremendously exhilarating, like climbing a sheer cliff with the sea coming in down below you, with no way back and no time to be scared
(and yes, I've done that, my very first outdoor climb).

The factory was a printers in South West London, where I'd been staying at the grace of Jake. It was a handy arrangement because there was also work on site from time to time. A few months earlier I'd left my very stable well paid but ultimately boring as shit job, to seek out a more engaging life. Pretty much my life mission. After a brief return to the North, which offered nothing in terms of work, in just over a month I returned South. It had been 20 years since previously leaving the North and it broke my heart to see a once vibrant old town, a former Industrial powerhouse, become a virtual ghost town with no real signs of any future. Old haunts long closed and boarded up, not even redeveloped. It was very sad and not an uncommon story around the UK.

Upon my return to London I worked for a couple of weeks at the printers before landing a job selling free range chickens at some of London's Farmer's markets. Initially I was only mean't to be at the factory for a few weeks but it eventually turned into almost 18 months.
Anyway, this particular day was not just significant and memorable for the factory flood but also it was the day the UK went to the polls to decide it's future on Europe.
As the rain subsided Jake asked me if I was going to vote
'Yes, if I'm still registered at my old place'

The rain had stopped. I seized the moment and got on my bike. Literally. My backside got a soaking on my way to the East End where I used to live. Just around the corner from the polling station, a truck rolled by bearing a sign 'SERENDIPTY' along it's side. As I reached the registrar and gave my name and old address, I knew the moment was serendipitous indeed. The good lady nodded, handed me the card and ticked my name off the list.
When I came out there was a young lady taking an exit poll. I told her I voted to remain. Then I asked her which way the vote was going from her smallish straw poll,
'Definitely In' she smiled.
The night before I'd spent arguing my case with my siblings who had pretty much all voted out, bar one who wisely hadn't gotten involved in the row. I felt alone and irked because two lived abroad and I saw that as being hypocritical to vote 'out' when they didn't have to live with the consequences, if it came to that. It was a vote that would split the nation almost down the middle the result plunged the UK into the uncertainty that it finds itself now.
It's one thing to have different opinions in life but another, in my view, to deny the validity of those opposing opinions as fantasy. Something that people on both sides of the vote have levied at each other. And are still doing.
Such was the ferocity of the argument online the night before that I decided that I wouldn't get involved in any aftermath, whichever way the vote went. We could only really get on with whatever we were left with right?

Half an hour after putting my X on the paper, I was in my favourite coffee shop. The Sun had put it's smile back on and brought Miss Blue Sky along. I'd just taken a seat and a man from Belgium asked if he could interview me for his magazine about the vote. I happily agreed. I was buoyant, many were. The exit polls initially indicated a Remain outcome. However our view in London was skewed. London is like New York, Paris, Berlin, Amsterdam, it's own entity in many ways. A 'false' capital in many ways of representation to the outer lying nation that operates outside of it. And often on different terms. Yet that is the case in most capital cities. Coming from the North (almost another country in itself) I knew this all too well.
On the way back to the factory, the skies grew darker and the rain began to fall again.
While waiting for a light to change, I found myself being squeezed by a white van into a temporary barrier. I put my foot on the barrier to steady myself, but it gave way and I fell into the road. Fortunately I only received a gash on my forearm and the driver of the van had kept his eye on me and thankfully didn't crush my skull. He also apologised, which eased some of the pain. Blood was spilled though and I remember thinking, 'I bled for this vote, I almost died for this vote' (I know it's melodramatic, but it is true to some degree and reflective of the intense feelings surrounding it all)

So when the result arrived it was more shock than surprise. And despite most of London being sombre for almost a month afterwards, I could only bet that the shock was felt everywhere. While some would revel in their 'victory', others would mourn, not necessarily because they lost a vote, more mourning the loss of some feeling of unity with friends and family, with their fellow nationals. Perhaps it confirmed that a nation was divided underneath for years and it took the vote to bring it to the surface. I've never know a poll to be so divisive. And with a plummeting pound and no apparent plan, that was far more worrying. What would be next? This was a leap into the unknown. I couldn't shake the feeling of listlessness. It was almost everywhere in London, you could barely escape it. Most of my work colleagues were immigrants, protected by Europe. They were worried. And rightly so.
As the summer drew to a close, I needed a break from Britain, some perspective. One morning I went out onto the street and saw a man wearing a Berlin T-Shirt. It was clear, that's were I was going...

([email protected] is a pseudonym copyright 2018)