Universal Credit is ruining folks lives before they receive their first payment , rape victims are having to justify themselves before they get a few bob child benefit, Richard Branson is pumping the public purse so he can fly to Venus in a converted golf buggy, we’re the equivalent of a baw hair from Big Innes of Still Game away from the biggest mistake since Von Stauffenberg left his briefcase two seats too far tae the left in a German army bunker 70 odd years ago, with a government without the first clue what, how or why they are driving the four countries which make up the UK over the edge of an economic cliff which will cripple the place for decades.
We’re sending Royals on visits to countries we sell weapons to who use them to pick off by sniper fire young female medics as they tend to mortally wounded children. Our bestest best friend in all the world is the biggest nutcase that has ever sat his ample posterior in the Oval Office (he makes Bush the younger, Reagan and Nixon look positively cerebral) a man who has no qualms in separating infants from their parents and pamping them in cages. There are folks traumatised from the horrors of Grenfell Tower still not properly rehoused, and the Westminster Parliament are chortling on about flags, guffaw, guffaw.
Add to that the Germans are oot the fitbaw, “ Huzzah!” Maradona looks like he’s going to pass away every time a poor Argentina side give away a corner, never mind a VAR viewing, and Ingerlund have played and beaten two mediocre group opponents on the way to glorious glory. Cue the theme tune from Michael Caine’s “Italian Job” and visions of Noel Coward strolling down a flight of stairs taking the applause of assembled old lags in a Victorian style prison setting. All is well in the Great Great British world. Flags, you see, they are the important thing. Although, isn’t it supposed to be us vile separatists of Scotland that are obsessed with flags?
The weak and unstable Theresa May, place-keeper of the warm seat until the night of the long knives around March next year when the differing versions of right-wing Conservatism go at in a kind of two tribes going to war scenario, is all for raising the flag of St George over Downing Street and public buildings every time ‘Our Boys’ take to the noble field of battle, the Daily Depress no doubt will have them dressed for Agincourt, “and in Scotland, in Scotland” crowed the assembled public school self-servers to much guffawing again.
There’s never a show involving an attempt at ripping the pish out of good old Jock without Punch. Wee Davie, London’s man up north, the Secretary of State Against Scotland, had to get his neb in via social media, confirming that the Scotland Office in London will also fly the St Georges’ cross too because he is confident that in four-years-time the saltire will fly over Downing Street in return. I think what Davie is trying to tell us is not that Scotland will be doing well in the World Cup in 2022 but will still be, in his opinion, tied to his beloved adopted country in union then.
Now bearing in mind that in 2014 three Westminster cooncil workmen, a cherry-picker, two Whitehall front reception concierges, a passing golden retriever and five polis, one on a horse, couldnae force an recalcitrant saltire up a Downing Street flag pole, until David Cameron convinced Alex Salmond tae send it a pleading txt message I don’t fancy Davie’s chances on either count, do you?
In all seriousness it’s a flag. If the Swedish consulate out at Musselburgh wanted tae hang their flag high during the World Cup we wouldn’t bat an eyelid at it. Why should we be any different with an English flag? Our intention as an independent state is to have close respectful relations with our long-term neighbours. Let them have their fun. We’re better than that, and after all, we’ve a growing number of flags of St George amongst our indy family as we take each step forward together towards independence.