2016 has gone and 2017 has arrived. The auld lady of London is no’ weel wae a touch ae the cauld. Ye need tae be careful when yer ninety ye know, cutting doon on the scrubbing front door steps and cleaning lavvies, that sort of stuff. A right good age for us mortals, but only really late middle age if ye’ve got Harley Street on tap. Meanwhile the Sir Humphrey Buggerton CBE, KBE, MCC, MFI, BBC’s of the world are scrambling around looking for the key to the dusty filing cupboard which retains THE PLAN in case anything goes wrong and, ten years earlier than they expect, they have to start spinning HRH Queen Camilla and the third richest man in the kingdom, who’s no’ quite as bumbling as he seems, and is decidedly more calculating than he seems, as the next best thing since Netflix.
Sincerely, get well soon your Maj. A good dose of the Askit powders will fix ye up. Keep him waiting a good bit longer. After all, with the wide-ranging bizarre possibilities for the world’s future looming heavy after a certain swearing in ceremony takes place later this month the abnormality which is hereditary privilege, and wearing golden hats, in the 21st century isn’t going to be the maddest power structure around for a while, just in the top ten.
Meanwhile the current UK Prime Minister, eyes dancing along the auto cue, in her New Year message (everybody and their auntie feels they have to give us a message these days on public holidays, it surely cannae be long until we are treated to Boris Johnson’s Easter message, spouting analogies about Brexit feeling like climbing Golgotha wearing a crown of thorns whist eating a Cadburys cream egg) calls for barriers to be broken down, apart from the ones she wants to put up with the rest of Europe, no longer seeing life in terms of Leave and Remain. She wants everybody to get behind the glorious union of the UK. I nearly boaked watching it. She’s like a cobra trying to hypnotise its prey before striking. The media training has failed big-style with this one, who clearly lacks empathy or credibility.
I’ve a feeling that once the actual nuts and bolts of Brexit start to loosen, instead of just the bobbing and weaving and picking pretty colours for it, that she is not long for that job, the Tories will get in to another power struggle where anything can happen.
Five minutes after listening to her blethering on about the great union and valuing the views of everyone who is part of it I read in the Sunday Herald that further Tory cuts as part of their Dickensian planned austerity programme, cutting social security benefits, is likely to pockle Scotland’s most vulnerable out of a further 2 billion pounds, during the course of this parliament, subjecting Scots to their policies even though they’ve only the one elected representative in Scotland, the Viceroy Mundell. who gets to hand out the shortbread at Westminster cabinet meetings.
Whilst all of this wholesome faux public spirited ‘we’re in this together’ bollox goes on in the south the First Minister of Scotland is at a health centre in Clackmannanshire launching a pilot scheme which eventually will ensure that every baby born in Scotland receives a box of essential items, nappies, clothes, around 40 different items, to help give them a good a start in life, based on a scheme successfully applied in Finland.
Nicola Sturgeon says ‘Scotland’s Baby Box is a strong signal of our determination that every child, regardless of their circumstances, should get the best start in life.’
There is no comparison really.