'Spoons' Reform

The Brexit-Reform brigade have a problem. Not a lack of confidence, mind you – they’re positively drowning in that. No, their problem is a chronic inability to answer even the most basic of questions about their beliefs. Not once – not a single time – has a Farage supporter managed to give me a straight answer to a simple query. Instead, they bluster, they divert, or, more often than not, they just get cross and shout something about the ‘woke elite’ before vanishing into the digital ether.

Following on from Monday's post about some questions I innocently asked Farageists - one opponent just kept replying with a clown emoji - first 1, then 2, then 3 - it wasn't long before he had a whole circus, but hadn't answered a single question I had posed. There again, I may have been talking to a toddler - it's hard to tell on Facebook.  

Online, this works. In a Brexit rabbit hole, there’s always a handy escape hatch – a mute button, a mod, or a conveniently timed ‘technical issue’ that means they have to, regrettably, end the discussion before the critical thinking kicks in. The internet is an easy place to run away from an argument, and it’s why trying to engage these people in good faith online is like trying to nail jelly to a wall. A valiant effort, but ultimately futile.

However, there is one place where the rules of engagement are different – one place where a Brexit-Reform diehard is, for a short while at least, a captive audience. Enter Wetherspoons.

Now, I’m not suggesting we should all start doing the rounds in our local 'Spoons' armed with laminated copies of ‘Questions That Make Farage Fans Cry’ (though I wouldn't be against it). But let’s be honest – there is no finer setting for some casual political discourse than a Wetherspoons. The beer is cheap, the clientele are usually up for a natter, and, crucially, no one wants to abandon their pint just because they’re struggling to answer a simple question about how Brexit was supposed to make Britain richer.

Picture it: you sidle up to a table where a Reform enthusiast is loudly proclaiming that Britain just needs to ‘do Brexit properly.’ You smile, you nod, and you ask, ever so casually, ‘Oh, what exactly didn’t we do properly, then?’ Watch as their expression changes – a flicker of panic, a quick glance at their pint for moral support. Maybe they try ‘Oh, well, the Tories sold it out.’ Ah, yes, the old betrayal narrative. ‘Right,’ you say, ‘so what did they sell out? What specifically should have been done differently?’

And just like that, they’re in trouble. There’s no exit button, no moderator to swoop in and rescue them, no screen to hide behind – just a pint, a pub, and a question they can’t answer. If they double down, you go further. What’s Brexit’s biggest success? Why is Britain’s economy trailing behind the EU’s? How is Farage going to magically solve anything when he’s never had a plan in his life? If it’s a really lively debate, you can even throw in the ultimate torpedo – ‘Why do you lot bang on about sovereignty, then want to hand it straight over to Trump?’

The goal here isn’t necessarily to get a full-scale conversion on the spot – no one likes admitting they’ve been had, especially not over a drink. But sowing doubt? That’s the game. The Brexit-Reform axis thrives on slogans, not scrutiny, and the more people who ask actual questions, the more the whole charade starts to look a bit shaky. We don’t need to shout or argue – just smile, ask, and let the silence do the work.

We should make it official – a grassroots campaign of Wetherspoons philosophers, armed with little more than curiosity and a well-timed question. No placards, no grandstanding – just pint-fuelled Socratic dialogue in the heart of Brexitland. A nation of amateur political therapists, gently guiding the lost souls of Reform voters towards the realisation that ‘Take Back Control’ meant handing it to the same old grifters.

And here’s the masterstroke – we could even buy them a drink. Nothing disarms quite like an unexpected pint. ‘Tell you what, mate – I’ll get the next round if you can name one tangible economic benefit of Brexit.’ That’s a deal even a staunch Brexiteer might struggle to turn down.

It’s time to take the fight where it really matters – to the pub.