The new Great British Railways logo is horrific – you can thank Brexit for that

Surely we can do better than sticking British flag logos onto German-owned, Japanese-made trains?

The proposed new logo for Great British Railways (Network Rail Infrastructure Limited)

I can’t do better than a chap called Chris Applegate who caught my attention on Twitter when he posted a picture of the new Great British Railways (GBR) logo, which I initially thought was some sort of a cruel parody. But no. It’s really a thing and it’s about to be plastered over tired British railway stations.

Applegate said the proposed logo looks “eye-bleedingly awful”. He’s right. The only use for it might be that it could burn cataracts off. As if Grant Shapps’s cringeworthy GBR promotion videos weren’t enough.

What was wrong with the classic, clean logo from 1965? Like the Union flag itself, it was a masterpiece of simple, clever design, and was instantly recognisable. But by combining the flag and the old British Rail logo into one hideous image, both have been devalued.

It’s as bad as when Royal Mail was briefly rebranded as Consignia, with the familiar crown replaced by something that looked like bathwater going down the plughole. In the same spirit, maybe Great British Railways could be called something more evocative of its places in our lives? Such as “Cancellia”, “Failway” or simply “Delay”. A digitised logo of a big red “X”, as seen so often on the departure boards, or a stylised middle finger would make the new name instantly identifiable with rail travel in the age of “levelling up”.

Surely we can do better than sticking British flag logos onto German-owned, Japanese-made trains? It’s a depressing artefact of a Brexit Britain. All of a sudden, everything from the No 10 press briefing room to the vegetable aisle at Morrisons and the government’s private plane, aka The Flying Truss, must be adorned with our national flag. It’s vulgar.

Besides royal weddings, jubilees and sporting festivals, the flag used to be flown mostly ironically, and rightly so. Think Ginger Spice’s Union Jack dress and the late Tim Brooke-Taylor’s Union Jack waistcoat. I even have a pair of Union Jack boxer shorts, worn on special occasions.

The irony of course is that the Union flag is seldom seen nowadays, except on official buildings where this “flag shagging” government (as I believe the phrase goes) has forced its use. Look at the archive footage of the 1966 World Cup final and you’ll see everyone waving Union Jacks, not, as is the case now, the flag of St George.

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In Scotland, if you wave a Union Jack in some areas, you’re inviting a kick in the baws. The UK government has even mandated the flag be plonked onto signs proclaiming that something has been paid for by them, like the EU used to, as if Scotland were some province to be patronised. I’d be surprised if those Union Jack logos weren’t vandalised.

In Wales, the dragon is the more common sight. In Northern Ireland, it can often become a sectarian symbol. Yet now, the government is using it to divide the UK along Leaver/Remainer lines, deepening divisions rather than healing the wounds of Brexit, and ruining the purpose of a national emblem. I’ve even seen people put flag poles up in their gardens, American-style.

The implication is that if you don’t fly the flag, you’re a traitor. The tendency for the pro-EU crew on Twitter to use the EU flag doesn’t foster national cohesion either. We really don’t need our eyes seared with Brexity imagery every time we get on a train. The ordeal is bad enough already without being reminded that nationalism has replaced the running of a functioning transport system, let alone a thriving economy.

If sticking a Union Jack on everything was the answer to every problem, then Britain would be the most successful nation on earth.