The laughing clowns

The mind indeed boggles. The current goings-on, and the reportage of those goings-on, in the crumbling seat of government of the former imperial power of which it was once said that the sun never sets, are heading towards being compared to a nostalgic tribute to early 1970’s psychedelic experimental comedy. Farce involving swirly lights, go-go dancers, sudden loud humming noises, and the odd clown face popping up and laughing hysterically.
 
Amid the chaos and disarray of the Brexit disaster it appears that the very sight of the leader of the third largest party at Westminster results in a mass evacuation of the Commons Chamber.

It’s worse when he gets up to speak. Prime Ministers suddenly remember they’ve left an egg on the boil in the cabinet office, pretendy socialist messiah’s bustle off to spend quiet time underlining sentences from ‘Das Kapital’, and crammed benchloads of political free-loading pond life scuttle off to the bar or that nice little bistro up the road, to escape.

Ian Blackford let out an involuntary belch the other day and 36 Tories ran screaming from the room thinking he was about to make a point.

It is said that if he is caught short and strolls off for a comfort break in one of the Commons toilets, which by the way, are still stacked high with the thousands of little glossy square sheets of paper that used to be hard copies of the Scottish government document ‘Scotland’s place in Europe’, (their repurposing being the result of giving former Brexit Minister David Davis’s team something to do for a few months, folding and ripping rather than using scissors which they might hurt themselves with) a handpicked cross-party group of LabTors are dispatched to covertly switch the bog light off once he’s in there.
 
The media, if anything, are worse. The State broadcaster has stealthily placed an electronic pressure pad under his seat on the party which represents the democratic majority in Scotland’s benches, which automatically switches its’ live feed to old episodes of the Magic Roundabout and Mr Ben when Blackford even as much as shifts a buttock in anger.

Heaven forbid they should ever broadcast the man speaking live. Why would he need to be heard in this great and wondrous precious union of equals, the mother of parliaments, the finest example of democratic partnership that the world has ever seen? Who would listen? What he has to say and the views of those who elected him and his colleagues to that place are irrelevant. Scotland does not matter.

The imperative of Scotland once again becoming a self-governing country is really that simple.
 
Honest to goodness, if you really do think that you are receiving balanced reporting of the most significant political event that has taken place since WW2, and its potential consequences, you must be living in that psychedelic world of laughing clowns mentioned earlier.