It’s not you, it’s… my parents… and grandparents. Sorry, I know this sounds ridiculous. I know, I know – “But it’s 2017”, I can hear you say. I know this all seems very 1950s. As incredible as it sounds, I am dumping you because my elders told me to. I know.

I know you probably don’t believe this is happening. After all we’ve been through together, I can scarcely believe it myself. 72 years of peace. How?

After all those centuries of endless, endless fighting and squabbling and suffering – and then nothing. France and Germany best pals. And they’re not the only ones you’ve seen reconciled. Yet I’m meant to just accept that leaving is the right way.

Honest, I did protest. I got some expert advice and prepared my case and was ready to defend you. I set out to persuade my elders. Most of them didn’t even hear me out – with a pat on the head, they would say: “You don’t understand these things; why not go back and play with your shiny Apple toy, take some selfies”. At least they didn’t shout at me.

Uncle Nigel slammed down his pint, jabbed a finger in my face, and yelled: “You better not get all-metropolitan-elite on me, sonny.” Finally, I turned to my mum. She listened intently to my arguments, before interrupting with: “You’ve got to understand, dear, we’ve simply had enough of experts.” She indicated the woman at the sink. “Anyway, you remember Betty, our accountant at the office? Well, she’s very kindly agreed to do this root canal for me. Now will you run out for a pint of milk and some painkillers? A few packs should do.”

“I realise I’m at fault here, probably more than you. I should have done more to defend you before it was too late”

So you can see how we’ve got here. I know words could never amend for the hurt you must be feeling – I know they couldn’t for mine – but right now, when things seem desperate, words are all I have.

I just want to say thank you. Through you I have learnt so much. Through you I’ve been able to travel, study, and live anywhere, anywhere within your great tent of freedom. At home you built my school, refurbished my town centre, and funded my university. You helped in so many ways, big and small: from reducing mobile roaming charges, to entrenching workers’ rights, from guaranteeing product safety standards to striving to protect the environment. Through you I have met some of my closest friends. You did all this. But more than this: you offered a dream – a dream held not just by me, but by countless millions across this continent.

You weren’t perfect. I cannot pretend you were. You were slow to react when things went wrong, and this frustrated me to no end. Your treatment of Greece – simply, I was ashamed. It hurts to say, but I was. Yet I didn’t believe that was the end. I knew I could make you better. I knew you could make me better.

British politics needs a regeneration

One of the hardest parts of this has been watching the flak fired your way. I hated you in those moments you failed to defend yourself, or unwittingly confirmed your enemy’s attacks by some misstep. You were too slow to defend your good qualities. You let others mock you and taunt you, calling you bloated and corrupt. And I realise I’m at fault here, probably more than you. I should have done more to defend you before it was too late.

The world is a scary place. The big bad world is a lot less scary when faced together with those you love. I hope somehow, in some way, we can still do this. Because I’m worried, scared, anxious, angry, hopeless, defeated, raging, resigned, desperate – often all at once. But this isn’t the end. I’m young. We’re young. And when we’re older, when we’re in control, things will be different. Just you see. Just you see Murdoch/Daily Mail/Farage/et al. The future is not ‘Legs-It’. We will have our day.

And we will meet again on a more weathered landscape ­– changed, but somehow the same.  

Ever yours,

Britain’s youth