Where are you?

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Theresa May has worn out three pairs of her very best hiking comfy brogues stravaging backwards and forwards tae Brussels, and is now heading over to Norn Irn to make a speech to a room full of unionist businessmen staunchly determined that they shouldn’t have even the slightest possibility of the possibility of the opportune opportunity of their businesses obtaining a competitive advantage over other parts of the ‘great family of nations’ (nutters).

Meanwhile the First Minister of our own dear beloved land is gallivanting all over North America trying to convince the top recipient nation on the list for exports from Scotland (to the tune of about five and a half billion squids every year) no’ tae worry too much come Brexit because we’re still going to distil the water of life in its many brand names, we’ll still be producing haggis in tins, our butchers will still make square sausage and black pudding, we’ll still be weaving the tartan, making shortbread, selling golf jumpers, and yes, we’ll still be experimenting wae the sugar levels in our other national drink.

However, I wonder thus, where is Mundell?
 
The Viceroy of Joy, the yes man to beat all yes men (with a small y of course) an individual who, if he was to waken with a start from sudden unconsciousness in a bygone age, after inadvertently touching a big mossy dod of standing stone in an ancient circle in the fog, would find himself in the front row of a bunch of sprinting wasters happy to accept bribes, debt clearance and promises of land and status, in exchange for being chased through the streets of Edinburgh by a rabble of extremely miffed Leith residents shouting “Somebody grab that quill, don’t let them sign anything!’  is conspicuous by his silence. Has he got the cauld maybe?
 
Seen up until recently on a regular basis with a microphone thrust under his nose outside Westminster acting in his subsidiary role of backing up every single thing that comes out of Theresa May’s mouth, including the occasional burp, the ‘ProudScot’ politician with the backbone of playdough, happy, and comfortable, to contradict himself on a consistent basis, back-flipping backwards and forwards to his master’s voice, must be getting a bit stir crazy, kicking his heels. Surely there must be a foreign trade visit to Vanuatu, Fiji or Mauritius in the pipeline somewhere?
 
Like Gordy Broon , anxious to intercede in the constitutional debate for the very first time he’s ever interceded, every single teeth-grinding time, to give us the benefit of his wisdom, I feel we need, on his usual cyclical basis, the heart, and gut, wrenching appeal from Davey, currently missing,  from somewhere far far away, in front of an audience who have no idea what he’s talking about, or why, to put out of our minds thoughts of disloyalty to our benevolent senior sibling in our ecstatically happy ‘family of nations’.  

Davey has a standard speech we all know and love, nobody wants a referendum, nobody wants independence, nobody wants divisiveness, Nicola Sturgeon just wants to use Brexit as an excuse for separation, stop it, you are putting my peerage in danger.  I miss him.
 
Come back soon Davey, we need you. You are one of the best recruits for the cause of an independent Scotland around. A real advert for our cause.

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