The Bad Boys of Brexit

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at 2016.11.02
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The Bad Boys of Brexit

02 November 2016

As Leave.EU founder Arron Banks’ referendum diary The Bad Boys of Brexit hits shelves, we give you a taste of the thoughts and antics he recorded while backing the successful campaign to lead Britain out of the failed European Union.

On the Battle of the Thames, 15 June:

Trafalgar, Jutland … the Battle of the Thames. We’ve written our own chapter of Britain’s great naval history. A glorious summer day of messing around in boats that turned into pure, madcap anarchy. Just what this campaign should be. Trafalgar meets the Wacky Races…

I quite fancied the role of Admiral Banksy, with my faithful cabin boy Wiggy. It wouldn’t come cheap, though. The Scottish skippers wanted us to cover the running costs so the expedition didn’t leave them out of pocket – £10,000 per boat for the biggest trawlers, 250 grand in al for seventy boats, though in the end fewer than that turned up.

I decided the free coverage would be worth a hell of a lot more than that. So the signal went out from Port Catbrain for the fleet to gather, and I shelled out…

Geldof and his luvvie crew looked like they were pissed as farts, sticking fingers up, shouting ‘wanker’ and making vulgar gestures. It’s quite incredible what contempt these people have for those who are trying to scrape a living against the odds. It was too much for some of the more principled lefties on the boat. A few of them got off and one tweeted: ‘On a boat with Bob Geldof and its awful. I may vote remain, but don’t support jeering at fishermen worried about their livelihoods.’ She followed that up with: ‘as someone who was on Bob Geldof’s boat, and left with others in protest, I can tell you it is everything wrong with strongerin.’

On David Cameron, 13 October:

Cameron did one of his embarrassing ‘that pumps me up!’ speeches where he doesn’t wear a jacket or tie and rolls up his sleeves. I read somewhere that Crosby thinks it makes him look ‘passionate’, but I always think he looks as if he’s about to shove his arm up a cow’s arse.

On Neil Kinnock, 28 March:

The Guardian had a go at us for employing Eastern Europeans in the Bristol call centre. It quotes a spokesman for Remain saying we’re ‘beyond parody’, though it does graciously concede that my beef is with uncontrolled immigration, not with all immigration in general.

That didn’t stop Neil Kinnock weighing in, accusing me of ‘hypocrisy’ for running a ‘campaign based on division and demonisation’ while employing EU workers. Showing that old age hasn’t diminished his propensity to be a total twit, he claimed I should hang my head in shame.

I regard it as a badge of honour to be slagged off by the bellend of all bellends, a man who enriched himself for years by scoffing at the Brussels trough, along with most of his family.

Happily, The Guardian also talked to one of our EU workers, an excellent fellow from Slovakia called Rudolph Svat. No doubt to the disappointment of the journalist, he said he thought we should leave the EU and bring in proper border controls.

Good lad.

On Nicholas Soames, 22 December:

That fat Tory foghorn Nicholas Soames has come out and said his grandfather Winston Churchill would have been appalled by the campaign to leave the EU. He’s been telling people his ancestor was ‘a profound believer in the values of European cooperation’.

What tosh. Soames is a pompous old bore whose blind Europhilia would make Juncker blush. The only thing he and his fine ancestor have in common is their waistline.

On herbal remedies, 8 January:

Wiggy could see I was out of sorts. One of our security guys handed me some hokum-pokum herbal medicine he’d picked up on his travels. ‘Try this!’ he suggested. ‘Works a treat!’ I’m not usually one for weird stimulants, especially not in granular form, but given the challenge ahead, I thought it was worth a try.

‘What am I supposed to do with it?’ I asked.

Wiggy shrugged and suggested I just eat it, so I ambled off to the gents to wash it down with a glass of water. I was a bit unsure whether this was wise, but after seeing my tired reflection in the mirror, I decided I didn’t have much to lose. I gulped it down, not much enjoying the taste, and headed back to the reassuringly serene surroundings of the dining room.

‘I don’t feel anything,’ I told Andy. ‘What was that stuff?’

He assured me it was nothing untoward but seemed a bit concerned.

‘How much did you take?’ he asked.

‘All of it,’ I replied matter-of-factly. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘Christ, Arron! I don’t think you were meant to take the whole lot!’ He quickly (and unconvincingly, I must say) composed himself. ‘Well, hopefully it will work. You should be full of beans.’

I was a bit concerned by his reaction and beginning to feel queasy, but the clock was ticking so we paid the bill for breakfast and set off for the debate. As we were heading out of the hotel, suddenly, to my horror, I realised I was going to be sick. There was no time to get back to the gents so I rushed towards the nearest hedge, where I promptly threw up. I don’t think anyone noticed, but embarrassed doesn’t cover it.

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Published at Wed, 02 Nov 2016 20:57:16 +0000

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