Farage’s new Party finds another parliamentary candidate

The Nag’s Head Public House Peckham, on a wet Friday lunchtime. A tall almost emaciated ungainly man with a dirty blonde shoddy haircut, wearing a khaki combat jacket and jeans two sizes too big for him, walks unsteadily and very slowly towards a table in the corner carrying a tray of drinks, concentrating hard not to spill any of the beverages under his control.

“Blimey Rodders” says a smaller man dressed in a 1980’s style trench-coat and wearing enough fake jewellery to shut down Argos. “You ain’t carrying a ticking time-bomb there my son. Hurry up, will you. The back of me throat thinks me tonsils have dried up and fallen off. Sacre bleu amigo, sacre bleu!”

“Hold up Del” says an elderly man sporting a big white beard and wearing a duffel jacket. “Give the lad a chance. Do you know during the war I was serving as a deck steward in the Russian convoys on the ‘Glorianna’. One day I had to carry a huge tray of champagne glasses through the Captain’s Mess in a force 9 gale when suddenl……”

“Oh do shut up Albert!’ said the smaller man again. “Rodney if you don’t get here shortly with them drinks Mike will be calling last orders and it’ll be time to set the stall up in the market tomorrow.”

“I’m coming Del. Just you sit there and throw out your orders, don’t mind me” the younger of the two Trotter brothers, Rodney, was not impressed by the heckling of his older brother Derek.

Arriving at the table Rodney distributed the drinks around the table in front of the various assembled company, depositing the last, a cocktail glass decorated with a cherry on a stick, a wedge of pineapple and a small umbrella, in front of his brother. “There you go Del” he said, “A Pernod, a dash of Peri Peri sauce and ginger ale, just like you asked for”.

A man in a second hand checked suit jacket who had a remarkable facial resemblance to a horse which had been hit on the head with a plank spoke “ What about that Brexit then?”

“Eh?” said Del. “What do you mean Trigg, what about Brexit?”

The slow thinking equine-faced man spoke again. “Well, I don’t feel any different.”

“Eh?” said Del again, looking bewilderedly around the other faces at the table, the others were equally as bemused. “What is he on about?” Trigg, what are you talking about?’

‘Brexit. We left, and I don’t feel any different, we’re still here, aren’t we? We didn’t go anywhere” said Trigger.

“It’s been cancelled Trigger, twice” said a moustachioed used-car salesman sitting to the confused man’s left. “ We’re not leaving now until October.”

“Thank God for that then “ said Trigger “I haven’t even packed yet. How many pairs of socks do you think I should take?”

A number of heads around the table shook, some eyebrows were raised, and the assembled company went back to their drinks.

Rodney, open-mouthed, raising a finger as if he was about to say something in response, changed his mind, and took a sip of his half pint of lager.

Resistance is not futile

Like just about everybody else, supporters of a self-governing Scotland or otherwise, I’m heart sick at the very sight or sound of the B-word, hence instead of blogging I’ve been getting on with other things until there is something less repetitive to comment upon.

All of this has gone way beyond farce, a former imperial power refusing to accept the reality of its place in the world in the 21st century and being caught, by a huge viewing audience around the world, under a massive spotlight with Its union flagged Y-fronts around its ankles whilst it repeatedly beats itself around the face with a loose floor plank which keeps popping up every time it puts a foot on the other end. It’s lit-up clown nose lets out the parp of an imaginary release of flatus (to the accompanying sound of much audience laughter) upon every stroke of the plank. It really is pathetic.
 
The First Minister of Scotland, fresh from yet another sit down in London with the Borg, where yet again the robotic-voiced negotiating tactic of the cybernetic organism reputed to be in charge of the collective known as Brexit Britain seems to have been “ We are the Tories. Lower your shields and surrender your country. We have added your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own, just like your oil and whisky. Your culture will adapt to service us.  The ‘people’ have spoken and we will do this in an orderly fashion. Resistance is futile”, is surely making plans for the forthcoming snap General Election, (a stage we haven’t reached yet, as we await the complete meltdown of the various factions of right-wing British politics) to provide the indicative answer to the question of sovereignty at Scotland’s ballot boxes.
 
All of this ‘taking back control’ nonsense spouted by the Farages, Redwoods and Johnsons of this world seems to have somehow gone a wee bit awry, particularly seeing as this week Westminster’s government is sweating like Donald Trump at the barbers about whether the European Union will grant them another extension to prolong the nightmare even further.

It looks likely they will, Donald Tusk’s idea of a flexible one year extension may end up being the likely serving suggestion. If it is this will likely generate a number of  consequences. There will be a major stooshie amongst the trough swillers in power, the rabid right-wing Rule Britannianites versus the not quite as right-wing bonkers Tories will get into it big style (Oh! What will Fluffy do? Where will his loyalties lie? Is his ermine cloak likely to be in any danger?).

This bunfight of backstabbing, like a Game of Thrones wedding, will result in the disco-dancing queen of Downing Street retiring to a life of running free through fields of wheat on a farm, the introduction of a new leader of the party, possibly a semi non-entity like Raab C (for Conservative) to absorb the heat for the rest of them,  It’s all about the party you see, and…..a General Election.
 
In amongst all of this continued circus of chaos, the politicking of an election campaign, and the internal frolics of the other mob of self-servers on the official opposition benches (around questions on free movement, accusations of religious bigotry, are they still fake socialists or do feel that they might want to be actual socialists, do they agree with Brexit, are they Europeans, does anybody actually know what Jeremy Corbyn really believes in, the man is a soundbite? it’s all about the party with them too)there will be room for Scotland’s government, as part of a clapped out, not-fit-for-purpose Union, but crucially still in the European Union for at least another year, to take advantage.

As much as the legitimate mandate that Scotland’s government currently has to seek a further canvassing of Scotland’s people about how they see their future is being ignored surely even the faux democracy of a punch drunk Westminster could not ignore the question of granting a section 30 order following a further decisive overwhelming ballot box majority, like 2015,  for the party of power in Scotland based on a manifesto pledging self-government and continuing European Union membership.
 
Was it Napoleon who said “ Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake”? Not that they are giving us much opportunity to interrupt them at the moment, but I think our opponents, not enemies, are doing most of the leg work for us. I just hope those that we have trust in to see Scotland over the line, returned to its rightful independent status, are ready to act when the right moment presents itself.

Eventually the weight of carrying those goalposts which seem to move just about every day at the moment will be too much for those who are stopping us achieving our goal to bear any further. The signs are there already. That is when we will win the day. It’s coming soon.