Can you repeat the question?

A challenge, a statement, and a question which should be asked of all unionist Scottish politicians past and present, of Holyrood and Westminster (both chambers) whenever, and wherever these people are encountered by any of the vast membership of the independence movement.

Asked as a first question during every interview (we can but dream) or during a chance encounter in a coffee shop queue, Tesco’s, or from the drivers seat of a taxi, or perhaps whilst waiting to cross the road (although it would take a couple of minutes) or definitely when they, or their stooges, chap your door, or stand on a irn Bru outside Greggs and berate you through a microphone about how vile you are for wanting to endanger their cosseted lifestyle or their future cosseted lifestyle, the question is this…..

If you consider yourself truly to be an honest servant of the people, committed to democracy, a public figure that the voters of Scotland can count on as having integrity, would you then concede that consistent polling evidence of the last year clearly reflects that a material change in circumstances has occurred since 2014, and that if the democratic rights of the people of Scotland are to be accommodated, a second referendum on Scotland’s future governance must now take place? 

Until these folk can firstly answer that question, without evasion, without a standard reference to the ‘once in a generation’ trope, and with some conviction, why should we give house room to any of their answers on any other subject? 

If they don’t answer this fundamental  question about the democratic rights of their fellow Scots we should just continue to ask it, to their eventual  embarrassment. 

Independence is normal, being governed by another country is not. 

Unfounded superiority

Can there be a clearer example of the crass exceptionalism of a shrunken and bitter former imperial power (an exceptionalism that time-after-time in regular polling is now being wholly rejected by a sickened Scotland) than the words of the Member of Parliament for the 19th century Jacob Rees-Mogg in the House of Commons yesterday, as he smugly laughed and joked?

In the face of the disaster which is unfolding in the Scottish, and the other parts of the UK, fishing industry, where Brexit, as a result of lack of government preparedness, poor communication and  bureaucratic incompetence has created supply bottlenecks, shrinking markets and red tape nightmares, resulting in catches being unsold, stocks of seafood previously delivered to markets at the peak of their value rotting on docksides, and companies throughout the fisheries sector on the brink of going under (and we’re only a couple of weeks into the brave new world of Little England separation) all this throwback fossil of Victoriana had to contribute by way of comment was that the most important thing is that that the fish are British, and therefore will be happier fish.

This following the incredible revelation, again jocularly, and with a hint of a chuckle coming from her gub, that Westminster’s Minister for Fisheries, Victoria Prentis, was too busy pinning up the Angel Gabriel’s frock in her local village for the nativity play to pay any attention to the finalised released document sent to her setting out the details of the post-Brexit arrangements between the UK and the EU for fishing, oops, never mind, we’re British, and proud, and that’s what counts.

What is wrong with these people? Seriously, what weird and sinister red, white and blue planet are they from?

Earlier in the week, in true bolting the stable door long after Dobbin has given them the middle corn of a hoof and trotted off over the nearest hill to escape the madness style, in a country, which apart from America, has made the biggest dug’s breakfast of a world pandemic known to man and beast, (instigating an extended round of indecisive gross and deadly incompetence, resulting in the unnecessary deaths of many thousands of innocents) they launched a public relations campaign about their performance in vaccinating the population with a phoatie of their glorious flag (them, and their flags) and some smug nonsense about how they are thee…eeee best at vaccinating. “We Are No 1 In Europe and third in the world for vaccination doses administered!”

Oh look at us, they bluster, how great are we? Better than Johnny Foreigner eh! How dreadfully smug and self-indulgent.

It would make you sick. Is helping to save people’s lives, the ones they haven’t (only purely by accident) managed to expose to mortal danger as yet, by inoculating them, a competition? Are we back to all of this “two World Wars and a World Cup” imbecilic nonsense yet again?

I don’t care who does it, Nicola Sturgeon, Joanna Cherry, a reinstated Alex Salmond or a re-elected Angus Robertson, or even the ghost of Don Roberto himself. 

Somebody, anybody, please find a way soon to disentangle Scotland from this awful weight of self-superior fantasists we’ve got shackled around our ankles.

We need to get away from these people. Some in other parts of the world are looking at us, and asking ‘are you with them?’….and giggling.

Onward

I’m not for or against Nicola Sturgeon or Alex Salmond, preferring at all times, to concentrate my site’s work to furthering the cause of an independent Scotland. My ire is aimed exclusively at those, mainly in public life, who would see a nation stifled, stunted and democratically ignored mainly for their own self-serving personal advancement, either in status or financially, or both.

These individuals are lower than a centipede’s Sambas. 

I have no issue with those of our people who, having given due consideration to the facts, still feel that their Scotland is best served being governed by another country. That is their right, we all deserve an opinion, but the self servers, particularly those who make great play of the fact that they are Scots born, the ‘Proudscots’, as if that somehow gives them the ability to somehow know better than the rest of us what is good for us, to be entitled, along the lines of their masters, “patriots’ of the isolationist, elitist neighbour which controls our purse strings, and makes all the major decisions for us that we should make ourselves, gie me the boak. 

My sister and brother Scots born here, and those that are new Scots, those who chose our country to live in, contribute to, and to bring their children up in, matter to me. We are all Scotland’s people.We all add to the mix of a progressive european nation set to be reborn.

Discussion is good, debate is healthy.

In the Scotland of our future, under a codified constitution centred on the needs and aspirations of its people, I except the various political parties which develop to meet the requirements of the electorate to fight tooth and nail amongst each other to ensure they do meet the requirements of those that elected them, whilst also,when necessary, working collaboratively with each other for the common good on issues which require a parliament to act as one. (The current pandemic demonstrates the guddle, in this case with deadly consequences, that political division in times of national crisis can create).

Until then, up until we’ve achieved our goal of returning Scotland to its rightful state of independence I’m not interested in in-fighting. It does not progress our cause. 

Independence is normal. Being governed by another country is not. 

Democracy rising to the surface

Och well. We’re in a new year, (just in it), and it looks already like a new pastime is required for us all eh, a hobby perhaps? It seems we of an outward looking, socially democratic, progressive civic nationalism mind have been defeated, gubbed, humped by our betters, our masters into a final subdued coma of subordination and dependency.  Fetch the cloth caps, we’ve some serious doffing to get started on.

How did this come about? What masterstroke was played that did for us, what act of heroism finally saw us off in favour of the menace of right-wing insular xenophobia? It was easy. That fine cerebral statesman, oozing with gravitas, the Premier of England and its neighbouring subsumed countries, the blonde Beetlejuice impersonating Winston Churchill, simply waffled on a bit on Sunday morning telly.

Yes, in that straightforward crystal clear communication style that he has Johnson Minor, Senior is trying to acquire a French passport, let it be known (you know the one, the one that involves grinning like a Brexit nationalist snorting uncut HP sauce, squeezed from an out-of-date sachet lifted from an all you can eat English breakfast café in Benidorm, off the china surface of a 1953 Coronation saucer, whilst mumbling phrases like “a new global dawn”, “A navy for Nelson to command” and “Really? I’m the Prime Minister?”) that we in Scotland have absolutely no chance, before some point around the fifth decade of this century, of having our views regarding the future governance of our country democratically considered again. We did this already in 2014, so we won’t need another one, will we Jock?

Our dream is over. What a pity, particularly with the growing numbers of Scots who have opened their minds (as consistently evidenced in what is now approaching twenty consecutive sample polls) to the idea of Scotland producing its own governments of whatever political leaning the democratic majority of us vote for in future, from our own country, rather than us increasingly having absolutely no influence on the government of our country by another country, having been thwarted by such a move of genius.

Boris Johnson has spoken. We’re finished. According to the wooly-headed posh boy there is no democratic means for the majority of Scots to express their views, or have those they elected carry out a process to comply with their stated will as voters. None at all. We’ve had our tea, now we’ve just to sit in a corner quietly chewing dry stale non-EU cereal.

Can all of this be true? All these years of campaigning for the just and rightful outcome of a return to self-determination for Scotland that many have put in, all for nothing? Is it right we have no say, no influence, no control over our own future governance? Can we be put off and dismissed so easily by such a man, by such a government from another country, by such a failed in-just, sham and deeply entrenched corruption of what democracy is supposed to be? Really?

I would suggest, the dreadful Covid –19 and its variants not-withstanding, that we consider not looking for a hobby, not picking up our painting by numbers kit, our jigsaws, our chessboards and our TV remotes, and instead get ourselves ready to get right back on our journey to our destination, an independent Scotland. 

If, like me, you feel that our country being dismissed as an irrelevance by a man whose only real talent involved having the ability to con himself into a position of power, initially by fending off his opponents with the bared teeth of his now pseudo-resigned attack dog,(an individual that Johnson would defend to the hilt even if he infected half of the north of England with the virus) a non-leader, now hanging on, way out of his depth, a  man who is frankly ridiculous, then your efforts in 2021 to return Scotland to its rightful state of democratic self-determination will, like mine, be redoubled. 

The time is near, peacefully and within the bounds of the law, where the failure to recognise the democratic rights of a nation must be reciprocated in kind. If they don’t recognise us why should we recognise their authority to govern? 

We’ve been more than patient. Independence is for the people of Scotland to demand as a sovereign nation. It is their right. 

In a bona fide democracy it does not form part of the jurisdiction of another country to have to be asked for their permission on such matters or to have the ability to refuse to adhere to the will of the majority of the people of the nation seeking self-determination. 

That time is coming.

A gut full of yet more lies

So there we have it. Eat your cereal Scotland, and when you’ve finished eating your cereal (which type, by the way, we bought for you, even though we know you don’t like it, with your own money, money that you’ll now need to pay us back) stand over there in the corner and look wretched and pathetic until we decide what to do with you next. You didn’t vote for Brexit but you are most definitely getting it.

As a Scot who believes in democracy, now, on the edge of 2021, it is clear to me, as I’m sure it is to you, that this deeply entrenched longstanding system of governance where an ancient sovereign nation is being done to rather than doing for ourselves must cease, and it must cease soon.

There is much spin and obfuscation of the waters going on right now over the token Brexit deal that Johnson’s comedy act government spilled into the public domain just before Christmas, ensuring that the majority of the population were too busy doing other things to think about Brexit, tying the whole thing up in red tape and 1246 pages. The pathetic sight of Boris Johnson dancing around the screen with document in hand over the festive season was surely enough to induce an involuntary bout of the boak in many a viewer. It’s only set to get worse over the next few days as the Tories preen themselves over their new insular narrow-minded English nationalist ‘freedom’.

The Scottish fishing industry and farming sector are set to get it tight, the London government’s play things, (oh what a surprise) economists reckon removing European citizenship will cost Scotland upwards of 9 billion quid, and we’re going to be at a distinct and significant competitive disadvantage to another part of the UK which has better access rights to a market we were already in until this Friday, but gave away. All this, and more depletion in the financial and services sectors. 

The Tories, and worse, Labour (oh how far they have fallen from grace) are now spinning nonsense about the democratically elected majority Scottish party members of their parliament, not ours, voting next week for as they describe it, a “No deal” Brexit, like the SNP not voting for their diminishing terms would make any difference to the outcome of the vote. 

This of course is as fatuous and mendacious as much of their other fabling on ‘Once in a lifetime referendums’, Vows (I heard the other day that Gordon Brown now states, to everyone who will listen, that it was delivered!) and the federalism myth.

Scotland voted by a clear majority (62%) to remain in the European Union. The SNP members of the majority English parliament, in England, will vote to reflect that the people they serve want to be progressive outward looking citizens of the European Community, not extras with funny accents in Dad’s Army.

English nationalist politicians, their ermine chasing acolytes in Scotland, and their media can spin the story any way they like, but the truth is the Tories and Labour will be voting for what will become a withering dose of economic, financial and cultural self- harm, or “bumpy moments” as the loathsome Gove describes it. Those representing constituencies in Scotland will be going against the direct wishes of the people they represent by doing so, whilst the SNP will be respecting the wishes of the folk that put their trust in them to stand on their behalf.

It is time to go Scotland. We just need to decide the manner in which we do so. In a true democracy, where the will of the people is inviolable, I do not advocate seeking the permission of another country to commence a process returning our country to rightful sovereignty.

Cue the pitchforks and light the torches

She can’t really win, being the First Minister of Scotland, can she, that Nicola Sturgeon?

See all of that not showing an unhealthy interest in hiding in fridges or disappearing for weekends and, curiously, spells of time during the working week, not expressing herself publically at any time during a withering, worsening and now mutating into an even more infectious, viral pandemic with bombast or bluster, clearly being genuinely upset at the sorrowful outcomes of the spread of the virus, as opposed to the pathetic ham acting crocodile tears of the plainly weird and dangerously incompetent character who is the English Secretary of Health, bending over backwards to halt all discussion of politics, or seeking a political edge or advantage whilst focusing on Covid-19 and working herself to exhaustion trying to protect her country-folk, see all of that, it really isn’t playing out well with the unionist vested interested media or her political opponents, is it?

She attends the funeral of a Scottish Government staff member, who passed away as a result of the Covid-19 virus, and whilst leaving the wake is snapped by somebody at the venue taking off her mask whilst talking to some folk at a nearby, but socially distanced away, table, a joker who then sends it off to the journalistic equivalent of a sewage pit for a front page, full page exposé of her secretly shunning of the rules (this whilst the mad bumbling Muppet with the wild hair who apparently governs the UK has been filmed and photographed dozens of times over the last several months standing close up to colleagues, health workers and the general public, bellowing mindless toffy-nosed nonsense and Covid germs all over the top of anyone in spittle shot, whilst passers-by actively move away from him, and his big stupid grinning puss, lest he stick his pudgy paw out, that he’s just wiped his pompous privileged beak with, for a virus transferring handshake, with not a peep in the media about it). Then the British state broadcaster got it, and we’re off on running on a constant repeat reel until somebody somewhere on high tells them to move on to the next separatist putdown story.

Then the Johnson Press gets in on the act, and up comes similar ‘I’m telling the teacher on you’ articles in the ‘Not The’ Scotsman, followed by the Fawkurt Herald. 

My goodness, they are pathetic. Being savaged by that lot is like having yer ankle sooked to the point of mild cramp by a toothless geriatric Jack Russell. No wonder the Hootsmon’s readership has sunk to dangerously low levels. (Eeek I better stop using phrases like that, it sounded like something the orange balloon, soon to be formerly of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, would say).

The British State broadcaster then got in on it, and we’re off and running, on an unrelenting round of repeat reporting until they can find something else to beat those of an independence mind over the head with.

You can rest assured, even though there’s about 3,000 trucks floating around Kent stinking of rotting prawns, spoiled jam, HP sauce, and Princes salmon spread, most of their drivers trying not to refight the Battle of Britain whilst parked on the former runway of Manston RAF station, the NHS is swamped with new cases of the virus as thousands of folk, who simply refuse to stay where they are, move around the major cities of England like giant gangs of meerkats trying to find ways to get out to the rest of the countries of the UK, the shelves in the shops are emptying at double the speed they usually would at Christmas, which is therefore just short of the speed of light, and the European Union hasn’t blinked yet, and wont, this story will still run and run and run….’Nikla whips off mask, and says words, out loud! Fetch the pitchforks and flaming torches!’

Then, as if that’s no’ bad enough, the poor woman, barely having had an hour to herself since before Burns Night, gets hit by a particularly obtuse question in Holyrood by the clinically obtuse and perpetually failing attempted media headline maker, not very Tricky Dicky Leonard.

Words almost failed her when the Trickster, known for his witty repartee, quick wit and thinking on his feet whilst public speaking, not (he’s been verbally slapped so many times by the FM that his red coupon now spins like it’s on a turntable) decided he’d have a go at her, basing his attack on the premise of the new strain of the deadly virus being purported to be 70% more catchable than the original strain.

He started off by getting into her for shutting down all of the places where folk gather, places where a virulent bug can spread like a Dairylea triangle on a hot toasted ootsider, for an indefinite period, how terrible and drastic of her. 

Clearly the choob thinks she should have a crystal ball which will tell her what dates in the future  the nasty fast spreading bug, as well as the nasty not so fast spreading bug, have booked four weeks in Cancun, thus leaving pubs, restaurants and all public buildings to open up again safely.

Then Tricky got into his stride with his clearly much-pencil-scraping-and-rubbing-oot prepared play on words to do with the 70% theme he was pitching, launched intae his JFK “ask not what your country can do for you’ moment…..

“…And if the new strain of the virus is 70% more transmissible than the original virus, will the government urgently increase the number of daily tests carried out in Scotland by 70%? Improve the capacity, utilisation and performance of Test and Protect by 70%, and will the First Minister commit today, as soon as it is practically possible, to a 70% acceleration in the rollout of the vaccination programme?”

No one in the chamber would have been the slightest bit surprised I’m sure if an aged teacher of his from primary school had shambled up to him, patted him on the heid, and called him a clever boy! What magnificent oration, a worthy contender for future First Minister in a kid-on Labour Scottish Shangri la!

Resisting the temptation to cross the floor of the chamber to scud the simplifier’s simplifier roon the back of the napper, for just being stupid, (where dae they get these people?) the First Minister once again responded in her usual trip off the tongue verbally crushing manner, explaining the reality of trying to keep some form of control over a completely invisible force which is trying like a bear with a grudge to reduce the population of the planet, changing course, mutating and moving forward by the hour, and being  entirely unpredictable, a force if left unchecked which will entirely overwhelm the health service and lead to yet more deaths of the innocent, who are not political pawns, they are real live, loving, caring human beings.

I think too that the Dickster needs to understand that Nicola Sturgeon may be the democratic leader of Scotland’s government, which is pretty impressive, but she’s not a magical alchemist. She cannae transform 85 thousands crates of Irn Bru Xtra intae Covid-19 vaccine. She’s not that good. The roll out of vaccines is entirely dependent on how quickly supplies can be obtained from suppliers. The when is not within her knowledge or control.

I don’t think I’d have her patience in that job, would you? I think I’d have been telling him to go away and spend the Christmas break thinking about next year spending 70% of his time looking for a new job.

She really cannae win, apart from strongly at the ballot box. 

Exposing farce as farce

Let Drew Hendry be just the first, the beginning of the democratically elected members of Scottish constituencies at Westminster, those who are not wedded to the ambition of ermine and 30 pieces of silver, unleashing a concerted campaign of peaceful civil disruption of parliamentary proceedings unseen in modern times.

Let it happen every day that parliament sits, let every single ludicrously outdated parliamentary rule be exploited, made to look foolish, let there be delays, suspensions, walk outs, disruptions of votes and committees. Let farce be exposed as farce. 

Let there be communal farting sounds from the SNP benches every time Boris Johnson stumbles to his feet to speak, resulting in delays as each offender is named and suspended for the day, week, month, forever. 

Let them half-inch the speaker’s robe, relocate the mace to the back of the room, or lift it up and twirl it around their heads every day, until an usher rushes to the scene. 

Let them consistently and without waver describe the Tories during debates or speeches as ‘the English Nationalist Party’ (childish I know but it would give me a bit of satisfaction). 

Let them use the word ‘liar’ when it is accurate to do so, and let them change seats, crossing over the chamber and sitting wherever they like, randomly, social distancing accepted, 

Let them hum ‘Ode to Joy’ individually, one at a time, be sanctioned and then refuse to leave until they are each, one at a time, over many minutes, physically hoyed oot the chamber by big beefy lads wearing silly coats and 18th century pantaloons.

They were admonished for it early on in their time in the Commons chamber, in a patronising way if I remember right by wee John Bercow, who I have a lot of time for it must be said,  but bring on a round of clapping every so often, and of the slower variety when the likes of Rees-Mogg, Gove and Patel et al start waffling, and no kidding, even the odd five bench Mexican wave, resulting in immediate sanction, would stave off the torpor of listening to Rugby and Eton over-educated, under-intelligent windbags droning on for hours about the torture of salt of the earth landowning hunt masters bemoaning having to see the sails of windfarms on the distant horizon adjacent to their ten thousand acres.

The actions of the MP for Inverness, Nairn, Badenoch and Strathspey yesterday during a debate about this much fabled (most of us had never heard of it until this year, and up until now it didn’t matter that we hadn’t) and over-hyped (you can only buy so many jars of English fruit jam before you get scunnered with jam) ‘Internal Market’ Bill are exactly what I except our representatives at Westminster to be doing right now in this settling up, not settling in, period of the much later than it should have, final fall of the delusional remnants of the empire with a small e, incompetently governed by men with complexes about their body parts and fetishes about Winston Churchill, and a smirking bully, who, despite being found guilty of treating her staff inappropriately, appears to be Teflon coated.

In fact this is exactly what I hoped our representatives would have been doing much earlier than this, better late than never. 

As each new democratic mandate to progress the cause of self-government has arrived it has become increasingly frustrating to watch our people be scorned, laughed at, shouted over, ignored, sworn at (on occasion) whistled at, deliberately be called inaccurately the ‘Scottish Nationalist Party” (when the only real narrow nationalists in the place are the English nationalists doing the belittling) not consulted and disrespected.

The recent example of Joanna Cherry QC, SNP MP for Edinburgh South West, in the weeks before the ill-prepared, confused, incompetently handled self-immolation that is to come with the end of the Brexit transition period, standing up in the Commons to ask a perfectly reasonable and rational question about whether the UK Government’s Immigration Minister and his team have any plans soon to meet with the Scottish Government’s equivalent to talk about the (possibly disastrous consequences for Scotland) end of free movement, only to be met by a tirade of snidey-ness from a jumped up Tory Under Secretary for Immigration about the SNP wanting to employ cheap labour, looking to rebuild Hadrian’s Wall whilst getting the English to pay for it, a Trump-like imbecilic childish snipe, guffaw guffaw, sums up the whole farce of this so-called Union of equals. But hey ho, two can play at that game, and its’ time to do it.

What the right-wing Muppets of the now near non-existent ukip (because they have been re-absorbed into the Tories) infiltrated Brexiteer party of government fail en masse, and on every occasion, to recognise, and this is one of their major mistakes when it comes to their dealings on Scotland, is that all of the mocking and insulting they continue to display against the majority of Scotland’s MP’s at Westminster, and the Scottish Government at Holyrood, also mocks and insults the majority of the people of Scotland, who voted for these people to represent them. It insults us all.

This, amongst the many failings of this clearly dysfunctional tragi-comedy government, historians in future will note, is a grave mistake. A mistake that, in their arrogance, they never even noticed they were making, and will be the downfall of their Union.

Slackbladder goes forth

The red faced unkempt man, making an expensive Savile Row suit look like an auld tattie sack tied in the middle, not two strands of his hair trained to sit on his head facing in the same direction at any given time, his face contorted into a half grimace, half stupid grin, put on for the assembled press corp, descended the steps from the RAF Voyager, resplendent in its recently repainted sparkling red, white and blue, completed for a meagre sum of around a cool million pounds of tax-payers money, at Brussels airport.

Waving, he quickly climbed into the back of the fortified Range Rover sent to meet him. 

He addressed his assistant, already seated, thus, “Well Baldrick, have we come up with any ideas about how we are going to get out of this one? The shelves in Waitrose are emptying, the highways and byways of Kent are a car park, some wag in the House has described the M20 as Farage’s Garage, We’re off to meet this confounded European Union filly who doesn’t like the cut of my jib, I can’t think why, we’re now less than three weeks away from a total monetary disaster, and the Jockanese are revolting again. They’re always up to something, how tiresome, what a loathsome lot.”

“Yes Prime Minister, as it happens I have thought about it. In my capacity as the Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, Minister for the Cabinet Office and second reserve Witch-finder General for the Borough of Turnip on the Wold I have had cause to give it a great deal of thought, at some considerable length” said the rubber-faced man with the permanently startled look upon his face, adjusting his glasses, “and I, I have a cunning plan!”.

The shaggy-haired man replied “Thank goodness for that. Does it involve picking a particularly innocent unsuspecting part of the middle-east, perhaps via a dart flung at a dartboard, and then firing devastating rockets at its major cities, to divert attention from Brexit, and perhaps we can save face and cancel, or postpone?”

The man with the face more naturally satirised than a Spitting Image puppet, now looking a bit confused said, simply “No.”

“Ah well then, does it involve us making all public land and gardens in the country into compulsory vegetable allotments, rationing corned beef, building an electric fence on the coastline between Land’s End and Margate, whilst ensuring that the Channel is teeming with gunboats Nelson would be proud of?” said the leader of the UK government.

“Eh, No” said the increasingly bewildered specky latex head.

“Ah, well, you must mean that we’ll regurgitate all of that telling the Scots that they’ve had their referendum, and democracy, our form of it, won on the day trope. We’ll spin that out-of-context stuff again about it being a ‘once in a generation’ event, and then I’ll have Rees-Mogg call up the DG of the Beeb to raise the Project Fear threat level a notch or three on the too little, too poor, too dependent fairy tale?”

“Well actually….” Said the now slightly intoxicated rubbery man, thinking seriously about it, having helped himself to the bottle of gin secreted in the back seat of the Range Rover, “No”.

“Are you suggesting then that I propose marriage to the President of the European Commission Balders? She’s already married, and I think she’s got nearly as many children as I have! No I’m not doing that, no, no, not in any circumstances!”

“No, No Prime Minister, nothing as drastic as that. I have a cunning plan that can’t possibly fail. It is brilliant, and will save the day. England will be victorious. Rule Britannia, We are saved! Nay Nonny Nay Nonny, twice round the Maypole, Nay Nonny Nonny!” said the clearly inebriated Gove.

Looking somewhat disappointed and wary now Prime Minister Boris Johnson turned to his unsteady colleague “Okay Baldrick, let me hear your cunning plan to rescue the country from what Brexit is about to do?”

With a lengthening grin, the apparently at some point before he got rid of it, Scottish accented, Michael Gove, turned, took a further slurp of gin out of the near empty bottle, and said “It’s easy Prime Minister, in fact it came to me last night in a dream, and it’s as easy as growing giant parsnips on St Parsnips Day in the village of Pars-Nip.”

“Come on then man, out with it. Another five minutes and we’ll be at the European Commission building, quick, tell me how we are going to save the country?’ said the now panicking Slackbladder.

“It’s simple. We hide all of next year’s calendars!”

Johnson, his face betraying a sense of utter disbelief and desperation, thought for a few moments before he spoke. When he did he had regained calmness, eyes narrowing, he said “Do you know something Baldrick, you might just be on to something there.”

When farce became fact

It’s very sad, but somehow fitting at this particular time, to hear that wee Bab’s Windsor, one of the few Windsor’s who ever had tae work for a living, has passed away after her long progressive illness. 

A British institution was this wee fireball of the screen, who made her name starring in the long series of ‘Carry On’ movie comedies of the 1960’s, before moving on in later years to appear as a regular in a long standing soap opera. 

She passes away at a time which history will record as seeing the imaginary fictional farce of British life depicted so well by Barbara, Sid James, Kenneth Williams et al in the movies replaced by actual real farce portrayed so incompetently by a government, and a Prime Minister who are the laughing stock of Western Europe and further beyond.

Prepare for No Deal is Boris Johnson’s latest war cry, having dashed off to Brussels, to save the day, in a badly fitting suit (as my dear auld gran used tae say “it fits him where it grips him”), pausing for a photo opportunity with the EU delegation, which made him and his sidekick look like Bernie Winters and his big shaggy dug, guffawing a bit, emitting the phrase “jolly good” several times raucously,  squirting water on EU Commission President Ursula Von Der Leyen from a plastic flower in his collar, letting one loud windy bowel vibration loose, and then getting back on his plane again, having had his erse handed to him in a bio-degradable EU Health and Safety Eco-Friendly standard disposable bag. What a Muppet.

His partner- in-crime, as mentioned in yesterday’s post, the loathsome rubber-faced (Spitting Image couldnae improve that fizzer for projecting glaikitness), Michael Gove, is telling everybody who will listen that it’s a great thing that Brexit will impact Scotland, England and Wales disastrously, whilst the fact that they are not going to be involved in returning life in the UK to a period prior to 1973 will have a fantastic effect on the economy of the north of Ireland, which will have skyscrapers full of global corporate offices and financial service hubs cutting through the rainclouds by January’s end of month pay day, the Singapore of the north.

That’s ok though because England and Wales voted to go back to the days of Fanny Craddock and powdered eggs. Scotland? Not so much, in fact we voted overwhelmingly to stay in the 21st century as progressive Europeans. Another fault line clearly becoming visible, and growing by the day, in the dysfunctional Union of all for One, and One for One’s future I hear you call? Indeed it is, and so it should be. Reprehensible.

All the signs are there, the Tory talking heads on the news broadcasts, the innuendo, the tooling up of the like of the Daily hate Mail and Express, to blame all of what is coming (an economic nightmare that may trigger a Depression) on the European Union for not caving in to exceptionalism.

Common sense tells you, and it doesn’t take four and a half years of blustering post-imperial small man syndrome bluff to work out, that the EU will never under any circumstances allow a non-member country to enjoy the same trading privileges as a member, without the financial obligation or responsibilities of being a member. If they did they would have a revolt amongst the existing members on their hands.

Yes folks, be assured the Germans, French and others are about to be framed for the entirely self-inflicted disaster that Brexit will become, re-fuelling the unhealthy, inward looking, suspicious xenophobia of 2016 for a new year, but hey, the London government are going to spend the GDP of a small country on defence, creating the “greatest naval power in Europe” again, according to the bumbling hair-akimboed idiot who spends much of the time gazing at his own navel. Talk about regressive? How depressing.

It has been said countless times in the last five years, but Scotland really does have a way out of this. Our paths have diverged, our people’s expectations in terms of their governance has changed. The Union is crumbling. 

It’s going to get rough before it gets better but when the East Coast Haar eventually clears the countries of mainland Britain will be neighbours, good neighbours, but no longer be party to a subsumed versus dominator relationship. Democracy will prevail in the end.

Now it is time to punish Scotland

Mone then, let’s be having ye Colonel Ruth (don’t mention my ermine cloak fitting next week because I like to portray myself as a down to earth woman of the people)  and former Viceroy of Joy, wee Davie Mundell. Let’s see the steadfast rigidity of your backbones.

Get that Word letter template up on your tax payer provided screen, and your signing pen at the ready, for the issue you so vigorously declared just two short years ago would be a resignation issue for you both, Northern Ireland to continue to have access to the EU single market after the Brexit transition period ends in a few weeks, whilst Scotland, disastrously won’t, has come to pass.

The announcement by the cringe-worthy Michael Gove “that businesses in Northern Ireland have the opportunity to enjoy the best of both worlds; access the the European single market, because there’s no infrastructure on the Island of Ireland, and at the same time unfettered access to the rest of the UK market”, is undoubtedly the spinniest spinny thing that was ever spun in a political world of ever increasing spin. 

He is attempting to deceive us all into thinking the clown school government he represents have used their super-duper negotiation skills (celestial beings help us) to somehow overwhelm the EU (they must have flashed the we’re British, so there! card again) into allowing Northern Ireland to keep on having exactly the same rights, ties and trading connections to Europe as they and the rest of the UK have enjoyed for many years, which he suggests is great, whilst at the same time that same government he works for has spent four and a half years doing everything it possibly can to deny the people of Wales, Scotland, the land of his birth, and England, the country to which he holds sycophantic allegiance, access to the same rights and trading relationship. Wow that is some spin.

In reality the terms of the “Good Friday Agreement” were always going to dictate this outcome for Northern Ireland, unless the Tories fancied lighting the touch paper on another decade of ‘the Troubles’, and surely even Boris Johnson is not that crazy, particularly too now that the nutter who has been running round the White House in his silk underpants at midnight for four years, clutching his mobile phone set to his Twitter account in one hand, and a cheeseburger in the other, is for the Joe the Toff, to be replaced by a firmly pro-Irish soon-to-be octogenarian.  

No, Northern Ireland’s good fortune is nothing to do with some sort of sudden highly unlikely burst of intelligent firm negotiation by the forces of isolationist John Bull exceptionalism. Not a chance.

What this development in the Brexit saga does however, (and this is the issue which the Ruthster and Davie Fluff highlighted at the time, an issue, which if they revisited their hot air pronouncements, made to impress voters at the time, should result now, if they were politicians of honour and integrity, in their resignation, they won’t because they are both comfily positioned at the public trough) is put Scotland, the country they are supposed to represent,  at a distinct competitive disadvantage to another part of the UK with regards to future trading arrangements, economic growth and prosperity.

From 01 January any overseas businesses looking to set up shop in the UK will choose Northern Ireland, with the advantage of its continued access to the EU and its link to the UK ‘they don’t like it up them, the fuzzy wuzzies, Captain Mainwaring’ isolationist market, to open up premises and new plant, provide employment and contribute tax in, not Scotland. 

Turning that around there will be businesses already established in Scotland, who once they’ve done the sums, will come to the conclusion that crossing the water will present them with a better opportunity to increase profits and grow their market. I’m sure you can think of many other examples. 

All of this has huge ramifications for the likes of the innovative green technology that Scotland has the ability to be a world leader in, it’ll be stifled, a busted flush. 

This competitive edge could literally be manna from heaven for the north of Ireland’s economy, and a disaster for Scotland, who like the citizens of Northern  Ireland,  never voted for Brexit in the first place. 

This is yet another( in a now growing number now) open goal with the keeper away for a pie scenario for the Scottish Government, the SNP generally and the wider Yes Movement. 

It is outrageous that firstly we were democratically ignored, ridiculed, ignored, undermined, excluded and despised, but now, now we have to be punished too. The only country of the four parts of the UK which won’t get what it’s citizens democratically voted for.

If the SNP cannot turn the consequences of this, and the other huge fault cracks of this dysfunctional unbalanced Union, cracks that are appearing almost daily now, into an independent Scotland I don’t know what we would have to do to achieve it.