(An affectionate message to us who advocate self government for Scotland from the right wing of one of the rightest of right wing tory governments in living memory, appropriate for a scary day like today……)
“Shut up Scotland. Shut up. Settle down and be quiet. You are forever babbling on amongst yourselves in that nonsensical guttural slang that you grunt at each other in. Stop it.
You are a loathsome minority. It’s oh so tiresome. Your parochialism is dull and boring. Get like your fruit, veg, whisky and that awful offal haggis, get with it, get red, white and blue, get an identity, get British.
Listen to your fellow countrymen and women who love us. They’re alright Jock. Strong Proud Scots. They’ve got it right. They admire our long held common history. Strength and security. Oh look, how cute! The Daily Mail has a snap of Pippa Middleton’s poodle in a kilt! Oh you should be so proud. We love your cute little tartan.
How could you possibly survive on your own? The clearances were inevitable. Shipbuilding got to be cheaper elsewhere. Here, have a contract for some navy frigates………Haha, only joking, gotcha again!
Ravenscraig needed to be demolished. Those factories and engineering works were only cluttering up the place. You can’t expect grouse and deer to thrive in decaying slums.
You always wanted to work as a casual shelf-stacker in a supermarket, didn’t you? Ambition? A mortgage? Come off it. Don’t make us laugh. Same day loans are designed for you, those repayment plans are there to keep you in line. Stay there.
Did we tell you that our oil, which you store for us, under your water, is running out tomorrow, and then again the next day, or is it the day after that?……You are indeed, how do you Jocks say it, mug punters.
You have no mandate because we tell you you have no mandate. It’s as simple as that. We decide, you don’t. It’s our type of democracy, not yours.
You had 56 out of 59 MPs at Westminster at one point. So what. They were powerless. Look at you now? Oh, and did we mention we are working on reducing the number of constituencies soon? That will hurt you more than it will hurt us.
You live in a region of us, face it, a region we have exploited for centuries, and to an extreme for the last 50 years. We have really kicked the arse out of it. But you are too collectively weak and divided to recognise that, thank you auntie, viewers in Scotland, keep paying that licence.
Such a strong devolved government we allowed you, control of almost 15% of your own destiny, haha, and the powers only to tie yourselves in knots, and make yourselves unpopular. That’s what you get when you mess with us. We’re experts at this kind of thing, ask India.
Our beneficence knows no bounds. You saw that demonstrated clearly when you spotted our slight oversight in trying to relieve you of an extra 7 billion pounds as part of the laughable Smith Commission settlement. Oops. How nice of us.
We tell you we love you, and you believe it. We tell you we would be heartbroken if you decided to leave our patronising embrace. In truth we would be nothing without you, and the gift of resources we unburden you of.
We’ll just keep laughing at you, marginalising you. To mock you we’ll keep printing pictures of your ridiculously atavistic blue-painted faces. Coochycoo Bravehearties. A pathetic simplistic lot. Talk about a chip on your shoulder!
Your own perspective on news and current affairs? Why would you need that? Does Cheshire get to have a perspective on world events? No. Then why should you? London knows best… shhhhh.
A mandate to have another squabble amongst yourselves about leaving us, where we’d only end up again having to frighten those who might initially lose a quid? You are having a laugh. Shut up Jock. Look at Spain. Oh no. No chance. Our patience with your insolence is wearing thin.
Instead, why not come with us to experience an exciting renaissance, the return of our empire. This Sceptred Isle can be great once more, in pounds and ounces. Come with us to a new world, a world of offshore tax corporate havens, golf with unhinged tanned leaders of the free world, and a perpetual obsession with hereditary power and personal wealth, for the very few, come to Brexitopia.”
(*A fictional summary of the circumstances surrounding the early days of a small Northern European nation returning to its rightful independent state).