Hands Across The Water

It’s great tae see Boris the Brexutopian getting out and about in the fresh air over there in the good ole US of A. Sent on a mission stateside by She Who Must Evade (when it comes to answering straight questions) straggly hair of the same consistency as yer Mam’s 1980’s fireside imitation fur rug from the Co-op blawin in the wind, and being wiped away from his eyes suggestively, he’s cutting a fine figure representing Westminster’s interests at the post- truth, pre-bedlam court of King Trumpet. Boris, a member of the elite, as Trumpet and Farage are, full of beans and exhilaration about the brave new retro 1950’s world he’s helping to bring about.

Thank heaven and earth that wise heads are making plans and preparations, firmly and with determination, to protect Scotland from the excesses of such as these men and women, the 1% who see wealth, power and control over the rest of us as their ultimate motivations.

In order for these plans to succeed the majority of the people of Scotland must be satisfied that self-government, the normal way of things in the rest of the world, is the way forward for them.

Be under no illusions, the post-Brexit “hands across the water” era is not going to be pretty for those not in that privileged 1% group. You can picture it now, it’s already started. Bumptious Boris and the scary-eyed woman are beside themselves with joy at the comments coming out of the US Republican Party, and strong hints from the incoming Trumpeteers, suggesting that signing high value trading agreements with HM government are high up their list of priorities, the ‘ special relationship” being what it is, or more, what it’s going to be. A reinvigorated partnership. One side will gain financially, and have their former empire arrogance and ego massaged, in exchange for giving the other an air of legitimacy, along with overt or tacit support in doing whatever the hell they want, to whomever they want, anywhere in the world, for profit.

There will be state visits to Windsor Castle, a glut of photos of orange-faced, small-handed, weird –haired reality TV stars smiling at royal children and expensive-to-keep nonagenarians, and heaven forbid, there will be Theresa of the expensive leather breeks bedecked in cowboy boots. checked shirts and cowboy hats at Camp David, or as it’s soon to be known in neon lighting. CD’s Fiery Cross Casino and two-headed Llama Circus.

Theresa May now has something else to point at, instead of just red, white and blue Brexit meaning Brexit, when evading the question about how she sees the Brexit shambles ultimately panning out, a time when the remaining UK no longer has access to the EU single market. When no one else does, due to their increasingly xenophobic hard-line right-wing policies, America still loves them.

After all there is a business opportunity and a mutual buck to be made in a country where the under-investment and preparatory work for the sell-off and privatisation of as much of the current public sector services as they can get away with has already been done. Making deals with the devil indeed.

When the time comes to make a choice a second time I am confident the people of Scotland will see that.

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