I just bought a house in France to escape the grotesque project that Brexit has become – and I’m not the only one

There’s a theory that when faced with imminent danger, humans instinctively enter one of two states; fight or flight. When it comes to Brexit, having exhaustively pursued the “fight” route, I’m now firmly in flight mode.

The European Union has shaped my life. Growing up in a poor household in an area of industrial decline, I developed a natural talent for languages and a yearning to reap the benefits of the opportunities offered by free movement across what was then 14 other European countries. I would lie In bed, looking up at the yellow stars I had meticulously stuck to my blue bedroom ceiling and dream of broadening my horizons.

At 19, I was offered the opportunity to take part in an EU-funded study scheme, which involved spending two out of the four years of my university degree course on the continent. Graduating with a triple qualification degree, my professional life has undoubtedly been enhanced by this invaluable opportunity.

I am, however, not blind to the EU’s faults, now being a slightly cynical 40-year-old rather than an excitable, naive teenager. Like any political body, Westminster included, the European Union has its flaws. But having seen a preview of what Brexit Britain looks like, I no longer recognise the country of my birth and have found myself running for the French hills.

Brexit has polarised this country and unleashed a wave of xenophobia and right-wing sentiment – or perhaps just caused the mask to slip in many cases. This has led to the open, unabashed expression of the kind of discriminatory language that would have rendered the utterer persona non grata just five years ago. With police forces reporting a significant rise in hate crimes against members of minority communities since June 2016, why on earth would I want to stay?

My “Brexit flight” plans are progressing nicely. I’ve bought an extremely reasonably priced three-bedroom house in a beautiful village in the Limousin region of central-western France. Having signed on the dotted line earlier this month and driven a 1800-mile round trip to transport various bits and pieces to my new home, my entire focus is now on laying the roots required to firmly ensconce myself in an EU27 country and retain my all-important EU passport. In doing so, I aim to physically remove myself from the grotesque project in monumental self-harm that Brexit has become.

I’m one of the lucky ones for sure. I have countless friends, relatives and social media acquaintances who would doubtlessly pursue the same escape plan were they able to. The vast majority of them will, sadly, find themselves marooned on Brexit Island come 31 October (presuming that is when we leave). Their right to live, study, travel, work and love in 27 other countries without hindrance brutally removed as the result of a referendum based on lies, illegalities and misconceptions, blended with a sizeable dollop of unfettered xenophobia and Little Englandism.

Many readers will no doubt respond that they are glad to lose a “Remoaner”, such is their stubborn refusal to accept that their pet project is founded on false promises and outdated isolationism. To be clear, hardcore Brexiteers are entirely to blame for people like me voting with their feet and crossing the channel to retain their rights.

In the run-up to the referendum, we were repeatedly told by Leave campaign figureheads such as Daniel Hannan that our place in the single market was not under threat. Instead, they claimed, we would pursue a “Norway-style” deal with the EU, which would, by its very nature, include the preservation of free movement, a gift so highly valued by so many.

Having secured a victory, the agenda has since been wholly hijacked by the no deal army and their march now seems unstoppable. It is the fault of these people and their refusal to compromise in light of the extremely narrow “victory” they engineered and the facts that have since come to light that pro-Europeans like myself feel driven to forge their future on the continent to protect their precious EU citizenship.

I’ve fought and fought. I’ve spoken at rallies, marched through London alongside hundreds of thousands of others, signed petitions, written letters and ranted ad nauseam on social media. I’m not too proud to admit that I’m now battle-weary and have reached the point of prioritising self-preservation over the seemingly futile fight to save the open, connected, respected Britain I grew up in. Au revoir.