The invisible nation


So there we have it. After what has effectively been a nineteen-month long dingie, (I’ve got to give Theresa May’s circus performers their due, they’ve gotten away with it) where every possible attempt by the Scottish Government, and my God there have been many, to try and have even the slightest input or influence on a process imposed on the people of Scotland, who voted overwhelmingly against it, has been ignored by a ruling power in London, the future of Scotland’s economy, and the levers which can help steer and influence that economy, now bizarrely lies in the hands of an unelected chamber of retired and semi-retired wealthy human symbols of the British state.

Think about that for one minute. It really hasn’t mattered what way you voted in June 2016, it really hasn’t mattered whether you think that Scotland should remain as a member of the European single market, or the customs union, it really doesn’t matter whether you think that, at worst, if Scotland is to be dragged out of Europe we should at least have the devolution settlement honoured, and powers returning from Europe, not specifically reserved to Westminster, returned to Holyrood, not London.

It really doesn’t matter because to them, those that govern your country from another country, you don’t matter.

Nicola Sturgeon, Mike Russell and John Swinney must have felt a bit like the the ghost in Randall and Hopkirk at a hoose pairty during the Brexit discussions so far . Nobody hears you, nobody sees you.

By contrast the likes of Seb Coe, Jeffery Archer, David Puttnam, Melvyn Bragg, John Birt (Former Director General of the BBC), yon bra designer who left Scotland because she hates separatists, Michael Forsyth, Alistair Darling, wee George Robertson who had to get sent to NATO to keep him out of mischief, and many many more wholesome and savoury British establishment characters get to make recommendations and decisions about your future. Gives you a right good warm feeling that eh. Our betters know best after all.

Russell, the Scottish Government’s representative tasked with making some sense out of this Brexit chaos and trying to pull the brake on the runaway Union Jack Glorious Trafalgar Express, as it heads to the cliff edge, has done his best. He roped in a squad of these wasters of tax-payers money yesterday, cattle prodding them out from their West End supper clubs and smoky lounge-rooms, prising the brandy glasses oot of their haunds, and waking some from their public-expensed slumber, to listen to a briefing on what it is they should be concentrating on, if they wanted to do the honourable thing for a change, as they debate the EU Withdrawal Bill.

It has also been agreed that former Liberal Leader David Steel, in a chamber completely lacking in members of the party of Scottish Government, who rightly believe in democracy and do not believe in unelected elite bodies being involved in government decision-making, will try his best on Scotland’s behalf, to keep the debate honest. Even if he actually does mean to do so please do not hold your breath that he will be successful. We may well be set for yet more in the way of scorn and having our democratic rights ignored.

Thank goodness the House of Lords is there, because we’re too wee , too poor and too stupid to make decisions for ourselves, aren’t we?

Scotland will do so much better once it returns to its rightful independent state.




I’m no’ sure whether Neil Findlay MSP(Scottish Branch of pretendy-socialist British Nationalism) was demonstrating a touch of in vino veritas at the time when he decided to reveal on Twitter what his true thoughts are about his country folk, a common enough mistake (both Twitter and Facebook should come with a user-pished-disable-button) but it seems, and heaven help us, in a former life he was a teacher of our children, that we’ll never ever escape the ingrained cringe, a self-imposed inferiority complex about who we are, what we are, and the language we use to communicate with each other.

Social media lends itself to this kind of self-immolation. You’ve had a wee swally, you are browsing through your newsfeed or timeline, an article or comment comes up that draws your attention, you think of an instant smart retort to make in response, that whilst you are pished appears hilarious, how witty am I you think, but then, in the early light of morning, as the dry tongue and throat cry out for water, as the dull ache above your temple kicks in, re-reading your words of the previous night brings you out in a hit panicky sweat as you reach for the delete button, hoping the entire planet has been stricken by a twelve hour temporary coma which would mean they haven’t seen you attempt to denigrate and insult your fellow Scots for committing no crime, for doing nothing malicious, for doing nothing other than speaking, writing and living their everyday lives in the Scots language.

There’s nae point in getting offended at Findlay. He was simply dumb enough to get himself caught. What came out of his keyboard strokes that night is the same bile and venom that we see every day in David Mundell’s eyes, in Ruth Davidson’s scowl, in George Foulkes ramblings. Findlay’s error in letting us see his inner thoughts, dropping the mask, if anything, only highlights the real bigotry, the real exceptionalism, the real racism, the real nationalism that exists in the relationship that currently exists as a sham ‘partnership’, a ruling large country dominating and exploiting a smaller neighbour. A union where one culture incessantly heavily promotes itself to the detriment of the other. A union where British flags are wholesome and patriotic and saltires are sinister and divisive. This too applies to our language, which is subjected to ridicule, accusations of being slang, and the long-term aim of wiping it out altogether.

I’m in my fifties now. When I was a wean the living room would have been ben the hoose, a Saturday morning grocery chore would have resulted in the receipt of a welcome cash injection, a brench from my gran, my faither would have got loused early from his work on Hogmanay, the tea in the kettle would have been masked, and the coal fire would have been kennelt.

Chips came in a poke, toothache was something you tholled until the dentist was open, stoor was what you wiped off the furniture, a skelf in yer finger could be sare, and might make ye crabbit. When you were being too loud an adult would tell you to wheesht. In my gran’s living room the ageing timepiece on the mantelpiece was the Knoack. Folk would ask you where aboots dae ye bide? If it was pouring rain outside it was a bit dreich. If you spilled your dinner you were a slitter.

Now? My grandchildren know none of these words. We do have the word ‘awesome’ which pretty much is the response to every situation, from the monumental achievement of handing over the right change for a coffee, to conquering Kilimanjaro on a square wheeled push bike.

We should laugh it off they say. In the old days you Jocks could take a joke and give it back. Watching your culture slowly and surely draining away is no’ funny, even less so when this process is being assisted by fellow Scots seemingly ashamed of their own language and background, filled with self-loathing, anxious to roll over and beg a treat thrown from their masters.

“But I read it in the paper”


The editors of the unionist print media in Scotland must surely by consensus have stopped taking their late-middle-age male menopause medication, as the headlines in yesterday’s and today’s chip shop wrappers attest.

They are not just acting with malice now against any person, group, or political party advocating the heinous prospect of the people of Scotland making their own government decisions. They have changed up a gear to turbo-bonkers mode, the lot of them. Mad as a cut snake.

Och well. Let’s then go the whole hog. Forget journalistic integrity. The truth undoubtedly means absolutely nothing. Just write and approve any old bollox, without as much as a cursory examination of the facts. Your story is crap, it’s sensational and entirely baseless in its accuracy but print it, sell it and thousands of Scots will soak it up.

Once the truth comes out in response it’s too late, the original smear has stuck. We, on the side of self-determination, are then playing catch up.

It matters not that eight years ago the protocols for when certain bits of cloth with colours and shapes on them can be run up a pole was changed in Scotland, after the then First Minister of the devolved limited powers Scottish Government sought permission from the hereditary non-elected monarch to fly one piece of cloth representing the symbol of hereditary non-elected monarchy in Scotland instead of a piece of cloth that represents an imposed government by a neighbouring larger country on a substantially passive populace disguised as an ‘enduring’ partnership, and received that permission.

No, that’s not the story. No the story is that damnable Sturgeon woman in 2018, at it again. Having made no changes, having not been involved, and having expressed no opinion on the subject of pieces of cloth with colours and shapes on them, she’s destroying the fabric of the glorious Great British way of life. She’ll be burning Morris dancers at the stake next. She’s a monster.

Where do we go from here in the race to the bottom of the rag pile? What’s next? Sturgeon accused of stealing the firstborn of every Scottish family home to start a secret legion of separatist storm troopers? First Minister orders Duke of Wellington statue demolished in order to retrieve wayward bollard? Sturgeon in cahoots with Chinese overlords? (oh no, they’ve used that one already).

This lot are really agitated about something. The anti- independence propaganda spin has definitely moved up a notch. I think they know, and fear, what’s coming. Their only answer is to try once again to instil fear and doubt about change. The Project Fear campaign of 2014 has never really gone away since then and is now most definitely being re-heated for a 2018 audience.

For Daily Mail, Scotsman and Express readers, if you truly believe what is published as facts in these papers you deserve each other. We are never going to convince you otherwise, and there is no point in trying.

As for everybody else, bear with us, we’re coming to see you soon, and we’ll be bringing some verifiable facts with us.

Enduring the Union


The boak rose sharply within my throat as I read that Theresa May held a Burns Supper last night in10 Downing Street, an opportunity, as she sees it, to “celebrate Scotland’s enduring union with the rest of the UK”.

Apparently Scotland is “a greatly valued part of the United Kingdom and its contribution to the UK is immense-economically, socially and culturally”. Theresa reckons Rabbie, a known agitator against all that the union she speaks about stands for, is a symbol of that enduring Union. Nope, I don’t get it either.

They live in a golden Britannic empire cloud-cuckoo-land, these unionist politicians, where it’s always springtime in the shires, the Archers are on the wireless and the muffins are just about ready in the oven. This delusion is almost as bad as the day when David Cameron, shyting himself that Project Fear wasn’t working, raised an uncooperative saltire above his front door to demonstrate how much he loved Scotland, the time when he wanted us to lead rather than to leave. The flag had other ideas.

What is this ‘greatly valued’ that the personality-free drone May speaks of? Economically, most definitely. They’ve hoovered up as much of Scotland’s wealth as they can pack into their Range Rovers and will continue to do so as long as we let them.

As for socially and culturally I guess if that were true it could easily and transparently be demonstrated by respecting the society and culture that the people of Scotland as a nation within its various communities fosters and celebrates. Seeing as the Prime Minister of the UK, her speech writers, her cabinet, her wider party in both England and Scotland and the establishment figures of her beloved union. its captains of industry, its ‘wealth creators’, its Lords and bra designers, its landed gentry, its extended family hanger-on royalty, all of whom, almost without exception deliberately ignore the democratic will of the people of Scotland at every turn, unless of course, it fits in with their continued retention of the control of the assets and resources of our country, I think then we all know she’s talking mince.

If there is an example of the British state respecting the democratic wishes of the people of Scotland on any occasion, at any time, since September 2014, I’d be interested to hear about it, for I cannot think of one.

Latching onto Burns as a symbol of the Union is akin to suggesting that Jimmy Reid was a fine advocate for the enduring love the people of Scotland had for Margaret Thatcher, or that John MacLean’s life passion was a strong patriotism for the British Empire’s imperial wars. Purely and simply this is fabricated revisionist bollox designed to fit their “Great British”agenda and promote the imaginary glorious Britain.

If I was the French I’d be careful about lending them the Bayeux Tapestry. They might find when they get it back that the section depicting Harold head-butting an arrow might be scissored out and replaced with a join the dots portrait of Nigel Farage.



It gets worse. Scotland’s unionist media pack have turned into the cast of Michael Bentine’s Potty Time. Hot on the heels of a several days long saga about a beard, some glasses and a sour puss they’ve made a tit of themselves yet again on behalf of their favourite cause, the British state.

The Scotsman newspaper, becoming more like the Dandy for infantile overly-superior bigoted halfwits every day, is surely scraping the very bottom of the bottom of the arse of the bottom of the barrel in its story about Scottish actor, and advocate for Scotland’s independence, Alan Cumming.

Apparently in 2013 the hardened vile separatist bought a flat in Edinburgh. He says he bought it so that he could have a base near his Mammy. A film and TV star, bit of cash tae throw around, houses or apartments probably in various places, wants tae have somewhere tae stay when visiting his mother. Seems fair enough, yes?

Naw. Scotland’s national daily beamer knows better. Feck the auld dear.She can get doon that lunch club and sook up mince n tawties from a tin with a straw alongside all the rest of the old wasters, who are only a burden on the soon-to-be Post Brexit re-emerging Empire. He never loved her anyway. Naw he only bought the flat tae satisfy his vile and devious separatist degenerate cravings!

X-Men is it? X-Men? The only X he was interested in was the heinous act of scribbling one on that ballot paper beside the dreaded word ‘Yes’ in 2014, the evil nationalist that he is.

However he was foiled in his dastardly plan, kinna like Guy Fawkes only far worse than him ,by a worthy organisation called the Lothian Valuation Join Board, whose senior officers must undoubtedly now be on a list somewhere for the cucumber sandwiches, kilt or morning suit, bended knee, bowed subservient napper, and skelp across the shooders wae a sword any day now for their efforts in foiling the dreaded self-determinator.

Then to make matters worse the vile Scottish nat had the cheek tae recently go and sell the place, and made a profit. How dare he. How very dare he!

The poor excuse for anything resembling a newspaper in its usual style just had to then portray the vile villain of the piece in a photograph with the First Minister Nicola Sturgeon. See, she’s in on it too! In fact she probably stole his Mammy’s mince n tatties!

Back in the real world we constantly hear sad stories, in an effort to get us to buy newspapers, about them lacking the resources they once had, journalists having to spend less than half the week in the pub, rushed off their feet trying to chase stories that formerly half a dozen dodgy hacks in sleazy raincoats would be pursuing, and them having to work hard prioritising stories now for publication.

If writing about Alan Cumming making a profit on selling a flat is what they consider news. a jab at the Yes Movement on a slowish news day, then they are getting their priorities way wrong.

Oh for the days of an independent nation with a proper written and broadcast media. Soon.

What did the unionist media never do for us?


It is deepest January. It is bitterly cold, dark, windy and snowy, and who actually really gives a shite about whether an actor in a party-political broadcast who has facial hair, wears glasses and is referred to as ‘Davey’ vaguely resembles tory fanboy David Torrance? (The actor looks a bit like our postman too, and Jimmy Hill, and about five of the guys I saw on the train yesterday).

Oh, a heinous act perpetrated indeed, in the red, white and blue addled nationalistic minds of Scotland’s hysterical unionist media keen on diversion from reality at any time, as the London led separatist political parties their articles and reports reinforce try their damnedest to isolate the UK from Europe and return us all to the 1950’s.

All of this utter nonsense is actually making headlines in the papers, Can you believe it? A quality Scottish press? There is no such thing. There hasn’t been for a while.

In reality unless you are actually David Torrance, or one of his school pals who happens to be a politician, or you are not a Scottish politics nerd who likens Torn face to one of those wee yapping mini-roll sized dugs that pees everywhere and chews at the end of yer trooser legs when you walk past it on the way to Asda you’d be justified in saying who is David Torrance? He loves the publicity, it allows him to play the self-appointed victim card. We’ve been here before.

Meanwhile back on planet earth Scotland is a country which in 2014 was described by an OECD report as being the 14th richest country in the world, ahead of the UK as a whole, which ranked 18th, if it were to become once again an independent state. Yet in 2015/16 more than a quarter of Scotland’s children were living in poverty, a rise of 4% on the previous year. 70% of these children live in homes where somebody is in employment.

In the same period in total 1.05 million Scots were living in relative poverty, after housing costs, up 2% on the previous year.

In 2016/17 the numbers of emergency Foodbank supplies provided in Scotland hit a record high at more than 145,000, marking a 9% increase on the previous year. The Trussell Trust has 52 Foodbanks in Scotland, 52! Around 48,000 of the three-day emergency food supplies were to feed hungry Scottish children.

The cumulative supply of emergency food provided to Scots for that period is the equivalent of enough to feed the residents of the city of Dundee for three days, according to the charity’s spokesperson in Scotland.

In Glasgow, our biggest population centre, it is estimated that around 34% of children live in poverty. Life expectancy in some areas of the city is around the lowest in the whole of the current United Kingdom. Almost half of Glasgow’s residents,47.3%, reside in 20% of the most deprived areas in Scotland.

In 2015 706 people died in Scotland as a result of drug abuse. The highest recorded level at that time, 68% more than ten years previously. In 2016 this increased further to 867 Scots dying directly as a result of drugs.

Scotland is in a period of ever increasing planned decline brought about by a distant government whose only interests in Scots and Scotland are financial and self-serving. We are a convenient resource-rich province to be looted systematically to maintain power and influence for a wealthy minority. There are many examples which prove that to be factually correct. You only need to look back as far as last week where Scottish politicians serving that distant government turned their back on the people who elected them, insulting democracy and the devolution process, ensuring powers returning from Europe, which rightly under the devolution settlement should be devolved to Holyrood, are retained in London.

But no, let’s keep reading in the papers about David Torrance and allegations of bullying, belittling and behaviour which restricts freedom of expression akin to President Shitehole himself from his pals. There are indeed very strong echoes of this in Scotland in 2018, but none of it comes from the movement pushing our country forward towards influencing its own destiny, governing its own future.

These are distractions, they are designed to be so. Let’s get on with the real job in hand.

The curious case of the disappearing parliament


Poirot, puzzled, had never come across such a crime in his career, disappearances of individuals, oui, but the gradual disappearance of a nation’s parliament and its powers? Non.

He had flown to Edinburgh, the capital city of the beautiful country of Scotland, at the behest of the First Minister, the diminutive Nicola Sturgeon, to investigate the circumstances surrounding the strange and sinister disappearances.

After a leisurely breakfast in his city centre hotel of lightly grilled Loch Fyne kippers, fresh local scallops and bread described in the menu as ‘ A plain ootsider’ Poirot straightened his bow tie, applied a comb to his oiled hair, pulled his pinstriped suit jacket around his ample frame and strolled down the Royal Mile to meet his client.

“Ah Mr Poirot, I’m so glad to see you. Thank you for coming. We really need your help” said the red-suited leader of the government of Scotland, as Poirot was ushered into her office in the modern parliament building.

“You are most welcome Madame, how can I be of service to you?” said the Belgian detective, bowing gently.

“It is a vexing matter, of that there is no doubt Mr Poirot. A person or persons unknown is stealing our parliament, and our democratic rights. It’s got so bad that when I came in to work past the parliamentary chamber this morning I noticed that some of the seats, desks and lecterns on the edges of both sides of the room have even started to disappear. We can’t figure out what’s happening”.

“I see, and do have any ideas about who may be behind this heinous crime Madame Sturgeon?” said the portly moustachioed sleuth.

“I have my suspicions that a gang of con artists originally from here but based down south, abetted by some local muscle, might have something to do with it. That’s where I would suggest you start your investigations.”

The early afternoon found the Belgian detective knocking on an ornate front door in the New Town with a shiny plaque above the doorway denoting that this building was the Scotland Office.

Receiving no answer Poirot noticed through the large frosted glass entrance the shape of a figure ducking down, as if pretending no one was in occupation of the premises.

Leaning down and opening the brass letter box Poirot called out “Allez Monsieur, I can see you, please answer the door. I mean you no harm!”

At this the lumpen figure seemed to relent, the sagging body language visible through the frosted glass seemed to denote a sense of resignation in the man now approaching the door.

It sprang open.

” What do you want? I’ve explained before to you hacks from The National, we’ll make amendments to the Brexit legislation when we are good and ready. We’re working towards a deal that works for Scotland and all of the UK, a deal that is worthy of our great Union” said a miserable looking puffy-faced bearded man in glasses (who wasn’t David Torrance either).

“Sir, you confuse me, I believe, with the gentlemen of the press. I am Hercule Poirot, Detective extraordinaire, formerly of the Brussels Capital Police force, to whom am I addressing?”said the dapper Belgian.

” Brussels you say, oh I think that’s the phone ringing, I must be going” said the sour vaguely ginger haired man, nervously turning pale as he attempted to close the door again.

At this the detective thrust forward his walking cane, barring any possibility of the door being able to be closed. After a moment the now sweating bearded man spoke.

“I am Secretary of State for Scotland David Mundell. I am important. What business do you have with me?”

“Ah I see Monsieur. Madam Sturgeon did mention you to me, describing you as, how did she say it again…. ah yes, La Fluffy Ecosse”.

“That blasted woman, she’s a thorn in my side” said the British politician, London’s man in Scotland.

Just at this moment Poirot could see over Mundell’s shoulder four men struggling, carrying wooden furniture up the ornate staircase of the opulent building. What looked like a microphone stand fell and bounced down the stairs to the bottom.

“Monsieur, your colleagues. Something is amiss. They are having difficulties carrying those desks and chairs upstairs. Should we perhaps assist?”

“No, no, they are fine. They’ll manage ok. I’m having some seating brought in for a reception this evening for a group of colleagues I’m mentoring, to thank them for their excellent work in parliament recently, particularly this week. I’ve spent a Queen’s plumbing refit on the catering. Lovely people they are. The right sort, all focussed like me on doing our very best for our country” said the future knight of the realm.

“But may I ask” Poirot said quietly, “where did you acquire this furniture? Those chairs and wooden desks look familiar to my eye. I have seen them somewhere before I think”.

“IKEA Mr Poirot, IKEA” said the now sniggering government minister, finally able to close the front door, in the world famous detective’s face.

Poirot stood on the doorstep for a moment in contemplation. He stroked his moustache as he thought to himself, there was something dreadfully amiss going on in this small country in Northern Europe. Recognising deception and dishonesty was his stock-in-trade, and he clearly could see both very much in play.

Starting to get ready


Nope, that’s it. We’ve most definitely had enough.

Following the latest perfidious act committed by Mundell’s union flag waving hench-flunkies, who developed a sudden depletion in their levels of personal integrity the other night whilst walking through the voting lobbies of their most favouritist favourite government building, making a mockery of the entire principle of devolution, we want independence right now, in fact we want it yesterday.

I propose a national day of positive protest called Hug a doubter. Get out there folks, grab yer nearest fellow Scot who has issues with self-belief and change, in fact grab two, whether they are sitting next tae ye at the breakfast table taking the top off an egg, or perhaps they are sitting at the next workstation across from you at the work, an old school pal perhaps, the gasman, yer uncle Billy, grab them, give them a big brotherly or sisterly squeeze and say, “Please, Please, for the love of goodness, waken up!”

We’ve tried everything else. We tiptoe through seemingly never-ending periods of negative, inaccurate, often completely false, and just downright misleading media nonsense and witch hunts, (I’m waiting on a headline soon about an oil tanker on its way to the scrap heap, because the oil has ran oot, bumping into a stationary NHS hospital surrounded by patients who have been there for two days queuing up in the carpark causing the Queensferry Crossing to shut for a month and thousands of weans tae be unable to write their own name by the time they go to high school) by trying to point to the actual facts from reputable and unequivocal sources rather than the output of the Clydeside House of Spin and the Ministry of Propaganda.

We have dozens of excellent commentators extolling the virtues of a society where the people in control of the community cashbox would actually have the interests of that society entirely in mind, people like Derek Bateman, Paul Kavanagh, Lesley Riddoch, Andrew Tickell, Carolyn Leckie, Michael Greenwell, Pat Kane, Michael Gray, Alan Bissett, Richard Walker, Mike Small, Billy Kay, Iain MacWhirter, Gordon MacIntyre-Kemp, John Robertson and Richard Murphy just to name a few. Bright smart people, no’ dafties.

We’ve even got the fellow in Bath who provides a sterling service with excellent rebuttal to much of the false negative guff about us being too wee, too poor, and too gullible.

We’ve a newspaper, The National. A paper that actually, and refreshingly, provides a bit of actual analysis of the news as it impacts Scotland. It’s value, even on a symbolic level, should never be under-rated.

All of the information that these folks generate and communicate, which will make Scotland a self-determining country, is now easily available and accessible.

The big challenge is getting people interested enough to access that information, question it, compare it with how Scotland is currently governed from London, and at least then be aware that there is a viable alternative to following St George and his dragon over the cliff.

We’re no’ desperately keen that Scotland returns to the status of an independent sovereign state because we are aw mad nationalists wae blue painted faces. There is a point to all of this. We in the Yes Movement believe passionately that our children and grandchildren will have a better life, and better opportunities, in an independent Scotland.

We’ve a grassroots movement that when roused is so impressive that it would make your hair stand on end. They are just itching tae get started, getting restless, by far our biggest asset in the coming months. When that juggernaut starts to move, and get a bit of momentum about it, you will hear the roar coming from the north as far south as Whitehall, and nothing will stop it.

‘Support for independence is receding, support is receding,’ says an interpretation of a poll. Aye, they wish!

When you are ready First Minister, let’s get a look at this Growth Commission report, and then let’s get on with actively preparing for the day when you name the date. Let them try and ignore that.



The snow that has been falling over Scotland during the last number of hours masks yet another in a long long line of treacherous acts by local agents of another country, seeking long term reward for doing their master’s bidding, determined to ensure that their own country remains under the control, and at the whim, of its larger neighbour, as it has done since the time when torches were lit on the English coast, bells pealed above cathedrals in London and people rioted in the streets of Edinburgh.

Get the wellies on, the snow shovel out and that path cleared folks because you are going to have to get out there and let your sceptical friends and relatives know that it’s happening. They won’t see much about it on the BBC.

Following last night’s vote in the Commons where the SNP, for once partially aided by Labour,looked to protect Holyrood’s claim to returned EU powers which impact Scotland’s economy, a bid defeated because the Scottish Tories despicably voted it down, they are coming for everything. Westminster is set on hoovering up any and all powers that currently sit with the European Union to the detriment, yet again of the people of Scotland.

Do not be in the slightest surprised too if the return of powers over agriculture, fisheries, harbours, the environment, renewable energy,onshore fracking licensing, and any of the other 111 powers they are going to scoop up, don’t act as a catalyst for London to start overtly seriously undermining the devolution process. After all, significant funding increases have revealed that Viceroy Mundell is quietly being supported in turning the Scotland Office into a provincial government hub once more akin to the old Scottish Office days. Watch that space.

As for the Scottish Tories elected at the last General Election there surely cannot be a more despicable act to commit in politics than betraying your own country’s interests.

We heard at the time of their election to parliament about how they were going to stand up for Scotland, how courageous they were going to be if they felt that they had to stand against their southern colleagues on issues where their country was being undermined or disadvantaged. What a lot of utter bollox. They have trooped in to every voting lobby behind their right-wing millionaire dishonourable friends as a simple matter of course. Unionist cheerleaders in tartan frilly knickers. They are so low that at last David Mundell has found a group of people who are deferential to him.

Let’s see how all of the farmers, rural folk and fishermen they convinced to vote for them feel once it eventually sinks in that London is going to use the products of their hard and sometimes dangerous work, risking their livelihoods by using them as bargaining pawns in negotiations with Europe once it eventually gets to the point where May, Davis and Johnson’s bobbing and weaving runs out of steam and they find themselves hopelessly wedged in a corner leaning heavily on the ropes whilst being pummelled on the posh nose by a French politician.

Get out there folks. They are trying to pull the rug out from under us. We are now in a position where the future of Scotland’s economy and the control of the levers of that economy are in the decision making hands of a group of unelected Lords, Ladies and bra-makers, none of whom who consider the people of Scotland’s right to self-determination as legitimate, many of whom who are in fact openly hostile to that outcome.

In our corner


First Minister of Scotland Nicola Sturgeon on Andrew Marr’s Sunday politics show yesterday once again demonstrated how lucky the people of Scotland (even those who believe British nationalist hype) are to have her in their corner.

It is refreshing to hear a leader of a political party being clear, straightforward and unambiguous in her comments on the subject of Brexit.

We are in a period where the Prime Minister of the UK, with the time clock running dangerously down, still talks in repetitive robotic banalities about the coming divorce from Europe, scripted nonsense which suggest she’s not so much playing her cards close to her chest but hoping that the one single card stuck to her forehead facing outwards towards France, the details of which she has no clue, will somehow see her, her party of millionaires and squiliionaires and ‘The Country’ through to a marvellously successful inverted future full of polo, street parties, bunting, ruddy-cheeked humble plucky common folk knowing their place, rickets and even larger consignments of tax-avoiding cash being hidden away by our betters in the Bahamas.

Her opposite number, the enigmatic Mr Corbyn, a man so ineffectual that he is unable to take advantage of the worst government in power since Nero broke a string on his lute, seems determined to run full speed ahead, you might even say in a ‘turbo-charged’ manner, off Beachy Head hand-in- hand with her. I have friends who reckon Jeremy has an aura about him, that he’s a leader of a movement, a bowel movement perhaps, for he has no spirit for a fight in him. The vast number of those who vote for his party support remaining in the EU single market and the Customs Union yet he refuses to countenance putting up an argument against Brexit, spurning all pleas to join in an alliance with others, like the SNP, to help bring this madness to an end.

I was glad to hear during Marr’s interview, (whose usual interruptions to those he asks questions were handled very well by the First Minister, his gas being firmly put at a peep) that at least one government in the UK has taken research into the consequences of leaving the world’s largest free trading bloc seriously, the Scottish Government publishing today a document called ‘Scotland’s Place in Europe: People, Jobs and Investment’ which analyses the impact of the various Brexit possibilities on Scotland’s economy.

Following the Carry On movie style machinations of the Westminster government department tasked with leading the UK out of the EU, with David Davis playing a kind of Kenneth Williams role, but with more sweat, finally admitting that the comprehensive sector-by -sector analysis and impact reports his department has been preparing aren’t very comprehensive at all, because they don’t exist, it will be interesting to see what the economists working for the Holyrood government come up with. Early headlines indicate that a ‘Hard’ Brexit, no deal, reverting to WTO trading rules, could hit Scotlands economy by £12.7 billion per year, £2300 for every person living in Scotland.

Mind you if this document is treated the same way as the last Scottish Government report on Brexit, a report about Scottish specific factors, and, in terms of the whole of the UK, outlining ways to ameliorate the negative outcomes of xenophobia, which was published last year when copies were used to rebalance some wobbly desk legs in Whitehall and as a cost saver in the various ablutionary closets of the Palace of Westminster (probably as close to Theresa May reading it as it was likely to get) we’d better not hold our breath about anything changing.

Marr pushed the First Minister on her views and timing on a second referendum to determine if Scotland should return to being an independent state.

Again on this she is clear. Once the cloak and dagger jiggery-pokery of London’s attempts to try and con or threaten the EU into somehow giving them a preferential exit and future trading deal is over, once the stark, grim future that is coming starts to emerge from the bureaucratic fog that has been placed in the way of clarity, then she will consider what is best to protect the interests of the people of Scotland. Then, I suspect, we will see the question of sovereignty for Scotland’s people dealt with and answered unequivocally.

Always bear in mind readers that all of this noise you hear about “getting the best deal for Britain” is bluff and nonsense, typical British state arrogance. The EU as an organisation are unable to give the UK, as a departing member, any sort of preferential deal or treatment. How could they? Any deal for the UK undermines the very purpose of 27 other nations gaining benefits from being members of the trading bloc. It is simply not going to happen.

I repeat, whether you agree or not, the people of Scotland are lucky to have Nicola Sturgeon fighting for them. She is eminently capable. The right leader for the right time.

Scotland will once again be an independent country, and she will have contributed greatly to that outcome.