We’re no’ in right now, please don’t leave a message


It is painfully clear now that the crazy dancer of Downing Street, the repetitive robotic orator of empty rhetoric is surely heading for the glue factory, put out to pasture, where she can run freely through ‘fields of wheat’ all day before spending long evenings helping her husband count their money.

Mind you I’ve said something similar to that many times before, only to see her use a mixture of luck, arrogance, blind ignorance, ruthlessness and the utter incompetence of those trying to shift her to bend in gale force winds but not break, leaving her still sitting precariously at the top of the pile of self-serving right-wing wallopers who control Scotland’s resources and govern us from another country.

Her Brexit plan in tatters she’s been floating roon Europe on some sort of self-imagined mission to save the day, St Georgina on a trusty charger, having discussions with bored European leaders who have all moved on to something else to think about on their own domestic political agenda. (The European family of nations having agreed to the terms of their narcissistic cousin’s departure to Venus on a rocket he made out of squeezy bottles a few weeks ago.)

There is nothing more to discuss at this point, with her, each conversation with a European leader commencing with a welcoming ‘ Why didn’t you phone first?’ and an under the breath ‘ I could have pretended to be out’. Angela Merkel even made the mistake of letting her out of the limousine she was locked in.

If the rumours are true the nasty nasty party, cynical,self-indulgent bastards that they are, are just about try and topple her, again, whereupon a sickening orgy of backstabbing, arse licking and what’s-in-it-for-me will ensue, before some other elitist plonker, like a turd which refuses to accept a flush, floats to the top. That’s the problem you see about Westminster having the power, they don’t give a hoot about anybody but themselves.

It is very simply all about them.

Our country can, and soon must, unfasten ourselves from the UK straitjacket, cut ourselves loose. Otherwise Scotland will remain tied to a concrete slab dragging us down to mediocrity and continued decline by subservient association.


Ruthless nationalist fanatics


It gets harder and harder tae maintain the correct level of concentration required to stop a reflex dry boak every time I read a Tory Brexit associated news report as we near the vote in England’s parliament which potentially will hasten Scotland’s return to its rightful independent state.

I say England’s parliament because clearly it is laughable to maintain the entrenched fallacious pretence that the UK is anything others than an affectation, a vehicle to allow England to maintain power over Scotland, Wales and the north of the island of Ireland.

Those crazy bewildered feckers caught in a mythical mindset of the 21st century rebirthing of Rudyard Kipling’s India, those with a public school superiority complex and fond memories of nanny spanking their arse with a wet lettuce leaf, continue to leave the rest of us wondering whether spending the first twenty five years of your life learning random quotes from Greek tragedies really is the best preparation for a life in the Palace of Westminster.

Mad Boris de Pfffiffffl is now being likened by some amongst his wacky right-wing cabal as a noble majestic lion of CS Lewis children’s fiction, ready to jut out his noble chin, sweep his impressive mane from side to side and roar a Great British roar which will pour forth hordes of union flagged face painted flying monkeys back through time to swarm all over the banks of the Suez Canal, turn the flotilla of small craft at Dunkirk into giant transformers which pick up Tiger tanks in each hand and hurl them back to the Rhineland, and set off a task force from Portsmouth to enforce a new much bigger exclusion zone around the Falkirk Isles which has Buenos Aires in the middle of it, allowing the Sun to use the word ‘ Gotcha’ as a front page headline every day for the next year.

They are totally bonkers this mob, as well as heartless and ruthless.

The revelation the other day that former Tory government minister Priti Patel, sacked for trying to start her own government negotiations with Israel a while back, is clearly, when it comes to her heart and soul, no’ very Priti at all.

Starve the Irish intae submission she reckons. Then they’ll be compliant and accept the will of the new Empire. They might even want tae beg forgiveness for asserting their right to sovereignty in the first place and come back under the yolk. Here we are nearly in 2019 and English politicians are seriously advocating interfering with the food supply of a peaceful neighbouring country. As if what they’ve done to Ireland in the past wasn’t enough.

Heartless,vindictive fanatical nationalist (the bad kind)bastards.

Nicola, please, start the ball rolling. We must get away from these rockets, and soon. Independence now, independence always.

Roll up! Roll up! Come and see the circus


There is absolutely nae truth in the rumour that the British state broadcaster had tae pull their lunchtime edition of Propaganda Scotland yesterday because they couldnae find any more Scottish related billionaires from large corporations with a vested interest in doing the bidding of London to tell us how great Brexit is, or think of anything bad tae say about the Scottish NHS, Education, the Saltire Bridge, Baby Boxes, Nicola Sturgeon’s constituency of Govanhill, trains and minimum unit pricing for swally. No truth in it at all.
My goodness isn’t it all going well, the smooth, almost seamless, divorce from our European trading partners? Fresh from an almighty kicking in parliament as her government was defeated not once, not twice, but three times the other day, one of which resulted in them being found to be held in contempt of the House, surely a new low for a sitting government, the crazy dancer of Downing Street is reeling like Donald Trump at a MENSA Convention. Indeed moving on 24 hours or so, and being forced to reveal legal advice on Brexit she didn’t want to reveal, the choruses of “ Liar, Liar, big weird flared Black Watch tartan troosers on fire” are resounding around the circus chamber of the House of Commons like a football choir on cup final day.
The weird and wonderful ultra-loyalist DUP mindset sees the sash afflicted bowler hat shaped headed politicos spitting fury at the prospect of the people they represent gaining a massive long-term advantage economically over the other countries of the broken Union. Fit to be tied they are at the very idea. These are clearly people who prefer to shoot themselves in both feet, after individually lopping off all of their toes.
Meanwhile the forced out legal advice, we can all see now why the beleaguered Theresa May preferred to try and keep it under wraps, advises that there will be many years of disentangling the Irish EU trade  links under the proposed Brexit deal, if it ever happens at all, which clearly puts Scotland, whose people voted overwhelmingly to remain in the EU, the same people who were told in 2014 that the only way to stay in the EU would be to vote No to self-government, once again at the bottom of the pile, distanced from the incoming financial investment and preferential trading which Norn Irn will undoubtedly enjoy under the special status Brexit will give it, ignored again, and up for economic decline and losses of billions of pounds a year. Don’t you just feel loved and wrapped warmly in the arms of our “Precious Union”? 
Next Tuesday, when a Commons vote is currently set to throw Brexit into further chaos, is a long way away yet. Will there be Brexit Ref Two, the sequel, or yet another General Election, or a change of Prime Minister, or with one bound will the disco queen pull a very confused and irritated rabbit out of the hat and win the day? Who knows. My money is on a swarm of locusts descending on Hyde Park and decimating the winter pansies.
One thing though, If those we have entrusted to represent the people of Scotland’s democratic wishes cannot get themselves positioned to take full advantage of the madness that is Westminster in the almost unprecedented crisis that it is in at the moment, to further the right and just cause of Scotland returning to an Independent self-governing outward looking state, then they are in the wrong jobs.
Our time surely must be coming, and soon.



Friends you know this already, and if you don’t you’ve been reading too many articles in the Daily Hate Mail, you are living in a fabricated construction of false democracy. A false democracy where politicians, aided and abetted by the majority of a pliable media with vested interests, simply refuse to make themselves accountable to you, and get away with it, easily.

Every inter-action with the much referenced “British people” is stage managed, diluted and homogenised to allow politicians in power, who, for all intents and purposes appear to be getting questioned about something important to the evening TV viewers waiting for Strictly Anything Great British in a Jungle to come on the google box, to respond to the questioner with standard one or two sentence bland conceptual intangible answers that really mean nothing and are no use to man nor beast. Real people with views that conflict with what the politician is trying to hard sell you are simply not allowed to intercede or provide an opposing opinion that may inform your views or enrich your understanding of the issue under debate.
In Scotland it’s even worse than that. You just don’t exist.
Reading the BBC news website’s article this morning entitled “ Brexit: Theresa May insists deal with EU is good for Scotland” I noted and accepted the usual British nationalist propaganda, that isn’t nationalist apparently because it’s British, of the first four paragraphs or so, supportive of the most ineffectual PM since Heath’s plan to separate the nations of the UK from their European neighbours in an isolationist orgy of little empire pomp and circumstance, commentary reinforcing and promoting the half a dozen bland phrases that the robotic leader spouts on an hourly basis about the separation.
Then I chuckled at the game effort at a confidence trick  flung in to the text, of the not so subtle project fear variety, suggesting that the UK government had done a bit of analytical work which showed that under Theresa’s separatist plans the economy of the ‘ family of nations’ could be 3.9% wee’er after 15 years but under a no deal it would be the reverse of 3.9% wee’er, a no deal Brexit would deliver a 9.3% hit to the economy! After 15 years? How would they know? These Tory think-tank boffin types must be geniuses, and if they are, why are we in such a mess in the first place? So effectively they are telling you Brexit is gonnae be disastrous, a deliberate act by a British government is going to harm the economies of the countries which make up the UK, but you’ve no’ tae worry because under this plan you’ll get the least worst outcome. Think about it. How mental is that?
The bit that really got me though about this article, that really stuck in my throat, returning to my earlier comment that the people of Scotland don’t exist in the eyes of those that govern them, was the missing sentence from a paragraph referring to the First Minister of Scotland’s views about Theresa May’s Brexit plan which reads “ Ms Sturgeon, who wants the UK to remain permanently in the single market and customs union and has backed calls for another referendum on the Brexit terms, has said the SNP’s 35 MPs at Westminster will vote against the deal on 11 December.”
The missing sentence, the factual context which would have informed any reader of the article as to why the First Minister of Scotland has an opposing view to that of the British government, should have been, of course ‘ The people of Scotland voted overwhelmingly in favour of remaining in the European Union by a margin of 62% to 38%.’ Was it there? No. Not a sniff of a mention, you are not important.
The reasons why Scotland should return to its rightful, and normal, state of being a self-governing independent country are many, but being considered invisible must be high up the list I would think.


The Visit


Where is she? They seek her here, they seek her there. Shaking her groove thang with the rhythmic dance moves of a recently born giraffe on crystal meth, the totemic perpetually hanging on by the very end of the very ends of her fingernails Prime Minister of hopefully the last, or one of the very last, governments by another country that Scotland will ever be subjected to, is coming north of the border today, ‘visiting a factory site somewhere near Glasgow’.

She’s there fighting the Brexit good fight, soothing and reassuring the masses that all will be well, there there now, as long as you keep eating the cereal (until it runs out) all will be well.
You should be able to spot her quite easily though if she’s in the Central Belt, because no doubt, knowing her keenness to hear what folk think,  she’ll be wanting to be as accessible to the people of Scotland as she can possibly be.

Therefore just look for a huge crowd in an industrial estate somewhere, maybe around Cumbernauld, or Uddingston, somewhere like that, and assuredly she’ll be right in the middle of it, joking wae the local characters, selfying wae everybody who wants one, charming the weans, in particular the wee lassies, who she’ll particularly be working hard to inspire to go on and take on the world and kick it’s erse, feeding the lunchtime nearby High School troops bits of her locally bought fish supper, clapping dugs and helping tae jump start faulty motability scooters. Aye, right doon tae earth she’ll be. She’s a real people’s Prime Minister. It’ll be magic.
The assembled crowd, they’ll be enthralled, and be hanging on her every word. “Dae ye hear that?” they’ll mutter to each other as she makes her public speech. “I never realised that the Turks and Caicos Islands were so important to the continued marvellous performance of our export sector, did you?” As a casual passer-by you’ll be able to actually physically feel what a whole gathering of Scots gushing with pride in their British identity feels like as they sigh and coo, and wave imaginary wee plastic flags they sell at the Gala every time she repeats the phrase “ It’s a good deal for all parts of our precious Union, our family of nations, and the only deal”.
They’ll get how clever she is, how dogged and tenacious she was in those endless negotiations with that untrustworthy lot of foreigners in Brussels, they’ll hear how she stood up for Scotland, how she put our interests first and foremost at the spearhead of her negotiating strategy.

She’ll drop hints to her captivated audience about how ensuring Scotland’s continued prosperity in particular was a clear red line for her as she took part in a staring competition with Ms Barnier, a competition in which he blinked first.

She’ll describe by anecdote a moment where over a scalding skinny long black in the atrium of the EU headquarters she threatened Jean-Claude Juncker with a gunboat off Zeebrugge unless he agreed that Tunnocks tea-cakes and Walkers shortbreed and oatcakes would continue to be on the canteen menu in the strangers lounge of the European Parliament until at least 2020. She’s a ticket, that one.
Once the show’s over, and she’s finished reassuring Scotland that Brexit is the greatest thing since cholera, there’ll be a rousing  three cheers of ‘Hip Hip Hooray’ in her honour, a chorus of “Rule Britannia”  and she’ll be carried off shoulder-high to her waiting Range Rover, which will depart the scene for a lunch engagement with our ever popular Viceroy, who is always particularly clear about how particularly clear he is that he is not resigning. Such a fine man of integrity that he is.

The showers of rose petals being strewn in her vehicle’s path by the scores of adoring Scots, content that they’ve had their say on the matter,  happy that their democratic will has been protected, their views satisfied, will warm our gracious leader from another country’s heart.

She’ll return to her cosy nest in the southern city state that actually matters to her and those like her, renewed in her sense of ‘Precious Union’.
……And then she’ll wake up, and spill her glass of water on her pillowslip.

Pride before a fall


It is clear beyond any doubt (the only thing that is clear about Brexit) that the crazy dance mover of Downing Street is gambling on one significant factor to try and bring her cobbled together (kick big decisions further down the road to 2020, and leave the final stages of the betrayal of what’s left of the Scottish fishing fleet to a time when she needs their fishing grounds as a bargaining tool again) plan to fruition. Shes’s hoping that the public of the UK are scunnered with Brexit to the point of taking the boak every time the subject is mentioned , and just want the whole thing over, hang the consequences for the future.
The group of EU negotiators involved in protecting the common interests of the remaining 27 European Union members during the protracted act of economic and cultural suicide that the separatists of English nationalism have wrought are still bewilderedly scratching their heads, only now they are thinking ‘Is this it? Is this weak, watery, full of holes agreement, which leaves the UK definitely worse off than being members of the EU really what the British have been wailing and gnashing their teeth about for the last two and a half years? Was it really worth it? Are they so obsessed with creating a fence around themselves to stop freedom of movement that they are happy to cut their own nose off to spite their face?’
The famed orator, admired for her spontaneity, quick witted responses to hard questioning, and inspiring charisma, a politician able to seal a deal (she’s none of these), still perilously hanging on to the key of the Westminster executive washroom, is set for a whistle stop tour of the UK between now and the 11 December, the day her plan will be voted down in parliament, sending the whole circus ring into chaos again and sparking a guddle of Brexiteers (what is the collective term for Brexiteers? A Screaming Bonkers Pride of Brexiteers , or perhaps a Xenophobia of Brexiteers?) tickling each other under the chin whilst they decide which of them gets to sit in the high chair and play phone footsy with Donald.
No doubt an old scout hut or community hall stuck in the middle of a forest somewhere in Scotland will be visited over the next week or so by Theresa and a handpicked audience of Tory party associated nodders and clappers, locked in and surrounded by a security perimeter to ensure that only the BBC Scotland telly cameras get in to record her speech. It wouldn’t do to let real people in now would it. They might go off the script. With wee Ruthie off on parental leave it will be interesting to see if Scottish Tory branch deputy Jackson Carloan steps up as a replacement host, or shall we be treated to a glimpse of the man who is always perfectly clear about how perfectly clear he is that he’s made himself perfectly clear that he won’t resign, the Viceroy of Spineless himself?
Here’s one I’m sure she won’t be asked by roving reporters from Pacific Quay. Why is it Prime Minister that you are always prattling on about how precious the union is to you, and how you revel in our great ‘family of nations’ yet Scotland voted overwhelmingly to remain in the European Union, by a margin far greater than they voted to remain in the UK in 2014,  and for two and a half years you have completely ignored the democratic will of the people of Scotland?  


The state of this


It is surely time for the Fluffmeister Pursuivant, the Secretary of State Against Scotland, to take one of his long trips to somewhere far far away again.

Clearly under extreme pressure over his red lines and his red neck on the future of Scottish waters post-Brexit we can surely only be hours away from him jetting off to Myanmar or Ecuador to tell assembled groups of bewildered dried leguminous vegetable exporters, banana plantation owners and shrimp fishermen that nobody wants another independence referendum and Nicola Sturgeon should take it off the table once and for all. 
That’s what usually happens whenever there is even a very remote chance of his spineless forty-faced lack of ownership of the consequences of his public pronouncements coming back and battering him squarely between the een.

On such occasions when he’s in full backtracking mode during an interview you can almost smell the burning rubber as the soles of his shoes start revving up for a backwards in reverse moonwalk to get him as far away from the reporter asking him the awkward questions as possible.
What a brass neck the fella has. Having watched his interview with Channel 4’s Ciaran Jenkins about whether he should resign in the wake of his beloved leader, the robotic orator with the crazy dance moves, (deliberately) including language in her Brexit plan which creates a huge grey area that will allow her government to once more, as they have done several time since they first took Scotland’s fishing industry into the Common Fisheries Policy, use a Scottish natural resource, and those employed in harvesting it, as pawns in negotiations with Europe, his body language, breathlessness and stilted replies clearly showed that he’s finding it very tough.

He’s finding it tough hanging on for grim death to his dream of a lovely cloak made from the fur of a short-tailed weasel (somewhat befitting), three hundred tax free quid in his back pocket every day to supplement his ample ministerial pension, and the prospects of a peaceful snooze on the benches of the Lords between late subsidised lunches in a Palace of Westminster dining room and early suppers in an exclusive West End Gentlemen’s club paid for by corporate lobbyists.
In his mind all he has to do to ensure that he achieves his self–serving ambition is to continue on every occasion, at every juncture, during every moment of his political life, to take every possible opportunity to deny the existence of Scotland as a country, to denigrate any statement which promotes the view that Scotland can, and will, exist as a thriving independent nation, and to continuously endorse a notion that the United Kingdom is our country, a country Scotland is effectively a region of, and fallaciously, a country which Scotland is heavily reliant on to ensure its prosperity.
He really is London’s man in Scotland. Of that there is no doubt, in line with the fairly recent re-branding of his government’s civil service in Scotland, which is no longer the Scottish Office, or Scotland Office, but is now The UK Government in Scotland. We move nearer to the point of being considered the last remaining colony every day.
As much as the man in question raises my ire, and blood pressure, as I’m sure he does for many of you reading this, I do hope he chooses the destination of any hastily arranged foreign trip, to get out of the media firing line, carefully.

For example if I was him I’d avoid North Sentinel Island, within the Andaman and Nicobar Islands in the Bay of Bengal. There’s a lost Pre-Neolithic tribe there who have been in the news this week, who prefer to remain entirely isolated from modern life, a tribe who have never been subjected to any of the common viruses we all experience, the common cold for example could be devastating within their community.

They’ve never been subjected to the Hootsmon or the BBC’s Reporting Scotland, and are therefore lacking in the deep rooted state propaganda brainwashing that the rest of us endure. Telling them that nobody wants a referendum may be confusing, or detrimental to their health, and perhaps might not go down too well. Therefore if I was Fluffy I’d stick to an exotic destination with a decent Trump Resort.
In all seriousness if he was a man of integrity and principle, a man with a real, honest, sense of responsibility towards protecting the interests of the people of Scotland, he would show a bit of backbone and resign immediately as a consequence of the obvious sell-out, once again, of a vital sector of the Scottish economy. Will he? No chance. Of course not. It’s all about his future, not yours.

David Mundell’s disgraceful political actions representing his London masters demonstrate clearly why Scotland must take the step of returning to its rightful independent state.
Dear friends, Independence is what we want, and Independence we will surely have.

Fitbaw Crazy


I had to chortle at the latest news coming out of that ancient dusty monument to ersatz democracy, the cradle of the mythical ‘Precious Union’ (the greatest one-sided swindle since Scotsman Gregor MacGregor (con)vinced several hundred British and French investors in the  first half of the 19th century that throwing huge piles of cash into government bonds and land certificates for a fictional Central American province he’d made up was a splendid idea).

This was news of serious import indeed, of Speaker of the House, wee John Bercow, he of the sacred “Order! Order!” getting his goony in a twisted knot over the silky keepie-uppie skills of SNP MP for Livingston Hannah Bardell, and a couple of her cross-party colleagues, having a wee kick aboot in the Commons Chamber.
Wee John, who doesn’t shout at his staff apparently, reckons ‘Our historic chamber should not be used for this type of activity.’ Seems a bit harsh to me that, particularly when he doesn’t seem to have a problem with the guffawing offspring of landed gentry and I didn’t get where I am today without kicking a sleeping homeless yob in the street and paying my workers under the odds on zero hours contracts self-made types, (not the type much driven to philanthropy) baying and spitting fury at the democratic representatives of the people of Scotland.

He doesn’t have an issue with said self-entitled types advising Scottish MP’s to commit suicide, or suggesting that Cromwell deporting Scots to the plantations was a great solution to a constitutional problem, or screeching loudly at the mention of reports detailing crippling poverty created under Tory mismanagement, trying to drown out debate, or even in the case of a former SNP female MP, he wasn’t that bothered about choruses of wolf-whistling every time she took to her feet to make a point. No, he’s not got a problem with any of that.

Nor even did his colleague, the Deputy Speaker, the other week when a Scottish MP was forced to continually repeat his question during a debate because the Tory opposite to whom he was addressing the question apparently couldn’t understand a clearly spoken Scottish accent. In the end the suggestion which came from the Speakers nest was that the Scot puts his question in writing. How crass and cringe-worthy is that?
I’d say these footballing ladies efforts are a refreshing change from the normal unruly child-like behaviour of the majority of the grandstanding attendees of that chamber, a place so far removed from the 21st century that, as Mhairi Black once described it, if there’s a problem during a vote, a miscount or somebody is deliberately delaying the process, they send for a guy with a big sword to sort it out.
I’m surprised they ever actually get anything of any worth done. It’s certainly never been a place that has made decisions that put the people of Scotland’s views at the top of its list of priorities, and as such will never be an appropriate forum to promote Scotland forward into a modern progressive self-reliant nation. Scotland needs to leave Westminster behind. Leave them to their pantomime squabbling, to their dreams of the past, in a tired museum to a greatness that for the most part never really existed.
The sooner that change comes about the better. Let’s do it.

Nicola goes to town


There’s absolutely no truth in the rumour that whilst wandering the dusty hallways of the Palace of Westminster yesterday First Minister of Scotland Nicola Sturgeon was heard to utter rather loudly as she passed a particularly sleekit coven of slimy Old Spice smelling gin-soaked Brexiteers who were whispering in a corner under a portrait of the snatcher of milk “Haw, you lot, ootside, yer claimed!”
However it seems she may have caused a bit of upset and disruption to the normal workings and purposeful progress of the seat of our magnificent government overlords (sloth-like adherence to the status quo, pointless postulating on the technical details of parliamentary protocols and ageing posh boys gazing down at the growing bump in their anatomy where their navel used to be) by her visit.

She was in London to try and corral assorted careerists, fake socialists, second coming Messiahs, pseudo-progressives and some Welsh people into some sort of sensible alliance against the forthcoming madness of the re-launching of the East India Company, this time without thousands of bearded Highland kilties, mad as a cut snake with prickly heat, charging round the sub-continent putting sharp bayonets in lots of places that cause mischief, roll up, roll up, get your trade deal here, two for a pound!
It has been reported that our stalwart FM, always keen for a good laugh, stumbled upon a meeting of the right-wing nutjob Tory European Research Group, whose chairman is of course that well known Horace Broon look-alike Jacob Rees-Mogg,  and seeing a room full of self-entitled wallopers hell-bent on ‘Jaunting’ Tomorrow People-like back to the era before the Suez Crisis, it seems she decided it was well worth a gatecrash for a chance to see stark raving lunacy displayed in one of its finest settings.

Allegedly the assembly of Hooray-Henry’s and Henrietta’s gave her a rousing cheer for doing so, although I’m not so sure they were too happy about her then proceeding to stand at the back of the room interjecting occasionally with such phrases as “ Naw ye didnae” and “ Aye ye ur” and “ Naw yeez hivnae” as the various wind-baggers and exponents of expensive educations which clearly have done them no good, demonstrating the principle that you can’t teach a pot plant to compose a concerto, spouted forth bilious Daily Mail quotations at each other.
Apparently too the FM, on her way into the office of the robotic orator with the crazy dance moves who precariously is still purported to be in charge of the Circus of Westminster, came face-to- face with the bumptious shaggy haired Bullingdon bully, who pretends to be everyone’s friend and tries to deceive by projecting a comical persona, even to the extent of dishevelling his blonde grey mane just before going on camera for interviews, whereupon said dangerous right-wing opportunist wished her “Good luck”. The FM is reported to have replied “Want me to tell her anything?”
Nicola Sturgeon is obviously too polite to have given him, one of the main instigators of the disaster which is about to befall the UK, the reply he deserved. Three words, and the first two are Get tae…….

There’s been a poll!


Oh my goodness, woe is us, for we are lost!  

Re-banish the name Douglas, raise the dragon banner and let it be known that anyone who shelters the rebel Sturgeon will immediately have their lands and possessions wheeched oot from under them and redistributed to a cadre of Daily Mail readers in Sidcup, to be replaced by a white van delivery of every conceivably distinct Scottish product, food or beverage that they can possibly stamp with a red, white and blue flag, which they’ll then make the harbourer of the rebellion consume whilst listening to a continuously repeated version of Blake’s Jerusalem at a volume just audible from outer space  “AND DID THOSE FEET IN ANCIENT TIME..”
There’s been a poll! Commissioned by our good friends Union In Union, Union, Precious Union, Oh Union I love thee, not surprisingly it finds that there are approximately twelve people in Scotland who would like their government to actually be in Scotland and have their priorities, as the people of Scotland, at the centre of their policies, the headline in the suddenly with one bound they were debt free, to hang with the staff pension fund,  reincarnated Hootsmon tells us triumphantly.

We Scots it seems are desperately keen to continue to leave the big decisions that impact our lives to people who know better than us, from another country, especially since Brexit is happening, and they’ve done so well getting ready for it so far.
The Survation poll, which I can only imagine somehow accidently managed to include, amongst the 1,013 people it surveyed, several of those weird dodgy folk, carrying children’s dolls,that hang around hospitals dressed in union flagged suits every time a member of the UK branch of the Sax-Coburg and Gotha extended family has a wean, the Larkhall Loyal Flute Band and Roughcasting Division, Jackie Burd’s pet bulldog Winston,  Andrew Marr, a significant number of readers of the Scottish version of the Express, and a young team which surely must have been canvassed via their email addresses at the likes of Fettes, Gordonstoun and George Watsons, has well and truly done for us.
Apparently 60% of our young folk over 16 would choose to stay in the UK. Aye, that makes sense. I can understand it of course because a yearning to live on a large island which isolates itself from its neighbours, mistrusting foreigners, limiting your chances of working in other countries and broadening your horizons and opportunities in life is right up there as a huge plus for those up and coming generations. They just love a rigid structure to their existence and the comfort of barriers and rules stopping them doing what they want to do or experiencing new things in their lives , so they do. They are also mad keen on the Antiques Roadshow and Songs of Praise, and they are forever writing down the phone numbers on those television adverts for funeral insurance.
Aye, we are no more. The independence movement is a busted flush, and as usual they’ve drafted in polling expert  ‘Sir’ John Curtice to tell us that this is the case. You’ll be sick of seeing his fizzer and hearing about this particular poll over the next few days. It will be on every news bulletin that accompanies your boiled eggs, your plate of soup, your teatime tawties and your twilight hours roasted cheese.
Back in the real world of course, as Margo MacDonald used to say “Polls (sic) are for haudin up tents”. The only real poll is the one they are worried about, the one they are losing sleep over, the one that is coming to a polling booth near you in the not too distant future. Then we’ll see.