Despite the spate of negative results in referendums on aspects of the European Union, the EU Commission and its heavyweight political supporters have not given up on their main aim: to convert the EU into a single country.

The currently proposed constitution — now called the Lisbon Treaty — would turn a grouping of nation states into a legal entity in its own right with the power to sign international treaties on behalf of member states and the right to overturn any nation’s laws. It includes an embryo army poised to requisition the forces of any EU country worth having, a flag, a “national” anthem, a passport system and the beginnings of a diplomatic corps with its own embassies around the world.

All it needs is a name.

The European Union is largely operated for, and on behalf of, Germany and France, the two original founders. What they want, they tend to get. In the treaty after next, assuming they find a way to browbeat Ireland into accepting most of the Lisbon Treaty, the question of the name of the new country of Europe is sure to figure. What might it be?

It would have to satisfy the egos of the Germans and the French and be mildly acceptable to the rest. One obvious name stands out: Frankia.

France was originally named after the Germanic tribe, the Franks, which gave us Charlemagne and other worthies of the “Holy Roman Empire”. It’s a name that would flatter both Paris and Berlin, and emphasize their status as joint controllers of the new European empire. The former French currency, naturally, was the franc.

The British would hate it, of course, and, assuming Labour governments are a thing of the past by then, would probably withdraw.

But would, say, a David Cameron government have the moral force to renegotiate Britain’s terms along the lines of an association agreement? Matthew d’Ancona has an excellent “testing the waters” piece in today’s Telegraph on what Cameron can expect on becoming PM in two years from now. One of his most important points is that serious challenges bring massive opportunities for radical change.

Cameron will certainly be faced with the kind of economic reconstruction that Margaret Thatcher tackled so fearlessly in the early 1980s. She succeeded in transforming Britain from basket case to Anglo-Saxon Tiger in less than a decade.

I’m not going to recite my own shopping list of what a new British government needs to do, as it’s way too long. But lancing the European boil is absolutely essential for British independence and for unity in the Tory party. It would also allow the country its familiar role as a freebooting trader again, free from the paralysing regulatory environment and toxic cost base spewing out in all directions from Brussels.

Frankia, in any shape or size, is no longer in Britain’s national interest. David Cameron may just become the saviour of the nation, a Winston Churchill for the 21st century.

The glib phrase “chickens coming home to roost” is about to spread across our media like a contagious rash.

The words are used to convey very bad times indeed, and place the blame on those responsible for keeping the cocks and hens busy doing something else.

By October, probably even September, the West could be in meltdown, with stocks and credit sinking to record lows. During the summer, unemployment will start to rise inexorably as various “crunches” combine in the perfect storm long anticipated by some of us. The knock-on effects could be extensive for most people and some businesses.

Last week, Bank of England Governor, Mervyn King warned Parliament that no family in the land can avoid significant cuts in their standard of living. Take it on the chin and adapt, was the essence of his message. It was the kind of sentiment you would normally expect from a leader announcing the country was at war.

New figures also show that British personal debt now stands at 173pc of annual income — a number so scary that even allowing it in the same breath as rapidly falling house prices is enough to make stout hearts leap from skyscrapers.

Bob Janjuah, RBS’s credit strategist, warns, “A very nasty period is soon to be upon us — be prepared. … Cash is the key safe haven. This is about not losing your money, and not losing your job.

“Globalisation was always going to risk putting G7 bankers into a dangerous corner at some point. We have got to that point. … The Fed is in panic mode. The massive credibility chasms down which the Fed and maybe even the ECB [European Central Bank] will plummet when they fail to hike rates in the face of higher inflation will combine to give us a big sell-off in risky assets.”

Oil prices should start to fall back as output is increasingly depressed. Next year it won’t be inflation we will have to worry about, but debt deflation.

Over the next decade, small children may start asking their mothers, “What do chickens do when they’re not roosting?”

If you are anything like me, you will occasionally — as if by serendipity — come across a book you intended to write yourself.

Indeed, you may already have written about its subject matter at some length, but regrettably not in book form.

As Albert Einstein put it, “If I keep asking the question long enough, the answer will be given me”.

The book I “chanced” upon is The Secret History of the World by Jonathan Black, a nom de plume of Mark Booth, Chief Executive of Century publishers, a British imprint of Random House. The author has used his many connections within publishing to amass an impressive array of data on his topic.

The simplest way to explain his subject is to state that science has become a militant materialist philosophy that believes matter precedes mind. Some scientists have even called consciousness “a disease of matter,” as if it were an interloper in a senseless universe.

This view is the complete opposite of what a majority of the greatest minds throughout history have believed — or better, known.

The perennial philosophy, as it has been called — that mind gives rise to matter — is still believed by the larger part of the human race. The last Pope, John Paul II, was taught in his youth by a Rosicrucian master. Following a car accident which nearly killed him, he had a spiritual experience which mirrored exactly what the teacher had taught him. Such was its overwhelming power, the young mystical Pole signed up for a seminary that led all the way to his becoming Pope in Rome.

The Rosicrucians (followers of the Rosy Cross) teach the age-old knowledge of idealism — that all is mind — in a Christian context. It is said that there are 20 miles of books in the Vatican library dedicated to this and similar points of view.

Quantum mechanics comes very close to idealism without quite letting go of the materialist base of science. There is no doubt that Einstein was a thorough-going adherent too. Everything he wrote screams “perennial philosophy”.

The problem is, the early Church came down very hard on anyone who challenged its materialist worldview, and, as Jonathan Black writes, today’s scientism demonizes anyone who as much as suggests an alternative to rocky lumps floating about in a void. Richard Dawkin is a prime example of the modern scientific inquisition. On the face of it, an alliance between early Catholicism and modern science is bizarre, but it’s a fact.

Most early believers in the supremacy of mind formed secret societies based on the Mystery Schools of antiquity, where spilling the beans meant death. According to Black, many of these societies still exist, though often branded with the tag “occult”, a word that simply means “hidden”, as in occluded.

Despite the iron fist in an iron glove approach of the present-day intellectual establishment, the vision of man’s ancient understanding of the universe lives on and thrives. As well as Einstein, the British astronomer James Jeans stated that, “the universe is nothing but a gigantic thought”. Isaac Newton spent most of his life studying aspects of it, so did C. G. Jung, the great Swiss joint-founder of psychology as we know it.

Buddhism and Hinduism are based on it, as are most religions, even Christianity, whose earliest exponents were Gnostics, a term meaning “knowers”, as opposed to believers. They sought, and many found, direct experience of the secret knowledge that mind creates matter, and not the other way round.

Dr Rupert Sheldrake, a contemporary biologist, has conducted many scientific experiments showing the influence of mind over matter, or “extended mind” as he calls it. His recent The Sense Of Being Stared At is a treasure chest of empirical idealism. His other work on the psychic abilities of animals is ground-breaking science at its unprejudiced best.

Black’s book is eye-wateringly comprehensive across the field, but concentrates on the ancient timeline and secret society aspects of the topic.

Anyone who has ever doubted the primacy of matter over mind, should read it with an open mind. It is a richly rewarding classic of its kind.

Some phrases in the English language become very annoying after a while.

They begin as cute, even devastating, responses to awkward situations. The purpose of them is to confer a powerful air of superiority on the user.

One such phrase is: “What part of ‘No’ don’t you understand?”

All such sayings start life as carefully crafted one-liners by wags in the press, usually half-decent writers, or cerebral contributors to those erudite TV panel shows. An osmotic process ensures they are swiftly deployed by every journalist, editor and media performer in the land.

Then, following a brief moment of triumph, they fade away, almost as quickly as they appeared. They have turned into cliche, and real writers know they are now virtually unusable … by them, at least.

But that’s not the end of it. Ordinary, non-media people pick them up as smart things to say when pressed. Endless TV vox pop interviews — popular because they don’t have to be paid for — are now filled with the dreaded words: “What part of ‘No’ don’t they understand?”

The Irish “No” vote in the EU referendum on Friday has resurrected this tired old bit of phraseology. It’s all over the newspapers again. Even hoary TV commmentators are using it — usually as a quote from someone else to give themselves deniability. The WPONDYU challenge is having its day in the sun.

Have we at Syntagma ever used it? Once or twice a moon or two ago. The problem with it is that it’s rather authoritarian. If someone barks it at you, you’ll know what I mean. It conjures up a particularly abusive school master or a militant feminist responding to an idle pass.

As a public service I have carefully crafted a witty response to What part of “No” don’t you understand? Here it is:

“It’s the ‘N’ that puzzles me. It gets it off to a very poor start.”

Okay, it’s not Oscar Wilde, but then I have nothing to declare but my lack of genius.