Welcome to Scotland


There were no photogenic saltires draped behind the seat as he had his snapshot taken with the First Minister of Scotland at Bute Hoose, but the awkwardness and cringe value of the last Prime Minister of the UK’s visit to Scotland outmatched Theresa May’s debut performance some time back by a fair measure.
Nicola Sturgeon sees them come, she sees them go, British Prime Ministers, like a city bus on a circular route, hang about a bit and there will be another one along in a minute.
He’d visited Faslane, the military base which stores Britain’s stock of rented weapons of mass murder and destruction, a crow’s soar from the largest population centre in Scotland, and many miles from London, to take part in a photoshoot with several bemused, bewildered professional submariners, their facial expressions in the photographs betraying what was in their mind rather than what was coming out of their mouths, in answer to whimsy wrapped up in buffoonery and then tied in a bow of achieved ambition outweighing ability.

In an attempt to tame the natives he made an offer to give them back some of their own money, using smoke and mirrors to fog the issue for the listeners and the more astute of the media audience as to whether it was a re-allocation of Scotland’s money already allocated to other causes, new money or a mix of both. Reporting Scotland viewers however would be led to believe in no uncertain terms that this was a benevolent act by our beloved partner in our precious union.

Ushered in the Edinburgh front door, under a hail of booing, by a leader clearly impatient and not in the mood for nonsense, his close aides, including the new version of London’s man in Scotland, hustled in post haste, an entourage of bureaucrats and political acolytes following on, up the steps, all important to the look he was trying, but failing, to portray, for statesmanlike he isn’t.

His attempts at charming Scotland’s First Minister rebuffed, him and his new Viceroy to the northern province treated to a glancing look up and down from Nicola Sturgeon, (unusually) which would have cut diamonds, her facial expression saying ‘get in that meeting room, I want a word with you’, he duly did so.

His snake oil sales pitch foiled, his boyish bonhomie repelled, his cover blown, he has no plan other than to take the UK to the edge of disaster, treat the EU with disdain, but then hope that they will still bail him out in the end. A calculated risk say some, delusional madness say the rest of us.

To avoid further humiliation he left by the back door. It would come as no surprise to observers to hear, if it had happened, that on his way to that rear entrance of the offical residence of the First Minister of Scotland he had found himself in a broom cupboard.

(Independence is normal, politically dominating neighbouring countries is not).


Ties that blind


Like a triumphant Caesar atop a golden chariot being pulled by four sparkling white steeds, the last Prime Minister of the UK, as it currently exists, is heading north today.

His big blonde/ grey coo-sized heid supports the weight of a wreath of Laurel atop it’s moppy peak.

In his mind he is not Roman, he is Apollo, of Ancient Greek mythology. Strong, powerful, formidable….. and as wide as the Clyde.

He’ll promise anything, anything at all, to anybody, to charm or get his way.

He is not known for his ability to actually deliver on any of the promises he makes, for the simple reason that in his mind he doesn’t have to deliver on any promises he makes, because not delivering on any promises he makes doesn’t faze him in the slightest, or give him one moment of lost sleep.

It doesn’t bother him one way or the other about failing on commitments, he can always blame someone else when something he promises doesn’t happen, and move on.

Life, for him, is a surreal term of privileged jocular faux conviviality. He’s everybody’s pal, but when it all goes Pete Tong he’ll be handing out cups of tea to reporters at Chequers front gate, shrugging his shoulders, and then packing the designer travel ware for St Moritz until the dust settles.

The weekend’s Sunday breakfast tv shows emphasised the unreal, and unusual connection the media have with a man whose first waking thought every morning is ‘they fell for it!’

He is described jovially as ‘Boris this’ and ‘Boris that’ consistently across the board. There is altogether too cosy a relationship In existence between those supposed to be holding power to account and those they are supposed to be holding to account.

He’s a showman, a snake oil salesman par excellence, an unpredictable figure who will give them acres of column inches, and they love him for it.

He’s coming to a Scottish ‘military base’, Faslane, according to those who would know, to make an announcement about how he intends to renew the ‘ ties that bind the UK’.

Apparently this does not include the introduction of legislation along the lines of a revamped version of the 1705 Alien Act (at this stage) But does include vague promises to chuck loads of money at vague growth deals in Scotland, Wales and Norn Irn.

As part of this veritable feast of benevolence (300 million quid) Fawkurt, home of the footballing bairns, is to get some new bus shelters, an actual shop in the High Street which doesn’t sell E-cigarettes, coffee or haircuts, a new grit bin, and a small Jack Russell who answers to the name of Tristan.

Also, Scotland’s islands and Argyll and Bute are set to be turned into a series of theme parks for toffs and Surrey new money.

All of this of course is supposed to convince you that Brexit is the best thing since crispy pancakes, especially if it’s the uber-catastrophic No Deal version, and that the new temporary Prime Minister has, underneath all of his layers of zany comedic inanity, a hidden sense of gravitas about his job, and a real commitment to a fair and equal union of nations in the political partnership called Great Britain.

Are you convinced?

Ruth Davidson, still spitting feathers at her recent side-lining when it came to job applicants for the new Tory government overseer posts in Scotland, who made it very clear over the weekend that she’s not for ‘No Deal’ in any circumstances, although she fully supports the new Prime Minister, is due to meet with the Britannic hero later on, after he’s had a NAAFI coffee (that’ll teach him) to be told by him what her opinion actually is. Get the flip flops out of your tank Ruth, you’re going to need them again.

Meanwhile the party of the democratically elected government of Scotland must surely be poring over that cast iron political mandate they have and checking the calendar. It’s time for the comfy canvassing shoes to come out of the cupboard.

(Independence is normal, the political domination of neighbouring countries is not).

It’s on again


Before today’s post a big thank you once again to readers of this blog who usually view it on Facebook who have clicked the follow button on the host platform at: itisintruthnotforglory.wordpress.com
Your response has been overwhelming. I managed to be Facebook ban free for half of Friday and most of Saturday, allowing me to post to indy Facebook groups yesterday’s blog entitled ‘Marginalised’. Only to subsequently attract two bans hard-running,as a result of posting the blog, meaning I’m banned again now until Monday breakfast time. Somebody somewhere is indeed making mischief. So the more folk who read the blog at WordPress and then post on the indy sites without me having to do it, the easier I’ll get around the attempts to gag me.

Anyway, back in the goldfish bowl of Scottish politics, according to our auld pals at the Hootsmon, yet another ‘SNP civil war’ has kicked off, and right at the time we could have been making inroads into convincing more of our countryfolk that self-government is the best option for Scotland’s future.

It’s all gone to shyte, the Twitter bickering that has been going on for some considerable time over the reform of the Gender Recognition Act, the perpetual rumbles of UDI theorists, the falling out of some of the main players in the hugely successful AUOB group, and apparently there is still some bitter factional infighting going on between the Nicolites and the Salmondistas, whilst Joanna Cherry waits in the wings poised to make a move for the big seat, is fracturing the Yes Movement severally, according to Dani Garavelli.

Things were going so well too, just when we have the rightest wing government in the Downing Street cabinet office since Mosley nearly got there. A regime which will surely see even many of our “I don’t do politics” friends and neighbours baulking at their cruel and withering policies, a government who are the greatest advert for Scottish independence since Michael Forsyth.

Aw well there’s nothing else for it. It’s time to get the tawtie scone launcher oot fae under the bed. Where did I put that telescopic sight?

Apparently, already the first elements of the Tarbolton Dragoon’s and darts team have made their way north and are expected to engage in heavy Barr’s Cream Soda skooshing under a hail of pizza crunch slices fired by the Letham Light Artillery, defending the north banks of the Forth, who have run out of their original ammo of forty Forfar Birdies fae Janey’s in the High Street.

There has been, what intercepted radio communications have described as, ‘ a bleachin’ at the Granada services roondaboot at Stirling as a coach load of pensioners from Fraserburgh, all fired up after a visit to the Bannockburn monument, came across a squadron of cut off Berwick Borderers who had unfortunately been hiding out amongst the undergrowth of the motorway junction.

It is kicking off! It is expected that authority will be given soon to break out the formerly banned highly toxic potted Hough tipped mouldy sausage rolls where life or limb is considered to be in danger. It’s gonnae get messy.

All other battalions of combatants are expected to report to their designated embarkation camp, and await further orders.

Much against the Scotsman’s view, (again) the Yes Movement is only going one way, forward to independence. Disagreements we will have, but when it comes to our purpose, our goal, we don’t, and won’t, fracture that easy.



Oh dear. As well as it not being a good week for inclusive progressive governance in the UK, (David Cameron’s much vaunted modernisation project of the Tory party now surely heading so far in reverse that it’s about to bump into Gamal Abdel Nasser) it certainly has also not been a great week for what passes for the Conservative and Unionist party in Scotland.

Rowdy Ruth Davidson, still beelin after news came in, whilst she was waxing her Challenger Tank, that her pal Davey, much against his wishes and ambitions, was set to return to the draughty back benches of the Commons, has now given herself a repetitive strain injury furiously rubbing the camouflage paint off the turret of her trusty vehicle at the further news that as well as wee Davey getting the hook,the new assistant Viceroy appointed to assist Davey’s replacement, Alister Jack, hasn’t the remotest connection to Scotland other than he once watched an episode of Hamish Macbeth.

Ruth’s gang of misfits, dodgy linesmen, landowners, careerists, with the occasional bigot sprinkled in here and there, and of course the MP for SNP Gain up in Aberdeen, who thought he was getting the big chair, didn’t get a sniff at the job, nothing, the middle of a doughnut.

Instead the last Prime Minister of the UK as it currently exists appointed Robin Caspar Walker, MP for Worcester, son of former Thatcher government minister Peter Walker, as parliamentary under- secretary at the Scotland Office.

Old Ruthster must be spitting pub style rosemary and sea salt crispy oven chips at that news.

After all that time her wee gang have spent cheerleading their London masters from the benches at Westminster, baying at the SNP members opposite, laughing like hyenas at any jibe uttered from their side of the chamber which insults the people of the country they are supposed to be representing, they got nothing, ignored, sidelined and marginalised. They are not trusted by the new increasingly further right-wing regime.

When that lot were elected at the last General Election, Ruth told anyone that would listen, several times, that they as Scottish Conservatives were there to stand up for Scotland, and if that meant voting against their London based head office, they would do so, and do so as a group. (That never happened).

We also keep hearing about how Ruth and her Scottish cohort see themselves as a separate entity, a Scottish Conservative party, not a branch of the UK Tories. Their campaign material on every occasion they’ve needed some has made an art form out of hiding the fact that they are actually part of a political party which has economically and socially decimated their country.

Here’s an idea Ruth. Break yourselves off officially. Don’t just threaten it, do it. Become an actual Scottish entity and lose the Unionist part of the party’s title, or just give it back to Boris Johnson, who has just added it to his job title. Leave the dynamic duo UnionJackMan & Robin to get on with helping to manage the parting of ways that is coming.

That way when independence arrives Scots who wish to vote for Conservative policies will have a party to vote for. Simples.

(Independence is normal, political domination of neighbouring countries is not).

P.S…. And right on cue I’ve attracted yet another 24 hour ban from posting to groups on Facebook.

“He didn’t get where he is today….”


Aw well… That’ll be that then eh. No sooner had wee Davey,the now former Viceroy of Joy’s, jaiket fell aff the shoogly peg, before we were being telt with some forcefulness, by his replacement (who on early first impressions and interviews clips, sounds like he’s gonnae be telling us repeatedly, like the catchphrase of a tv character in a 1970’s Leonard Rossiter comedy show’s ad Infinitum “I didn’t get where I am today ….etc”, how he’s bringing his magnificent business skills to the arena of politics to benefit us all) that we’re no’ getting a referendum and that’s final!

We had one on 2014 and that’s that, it’s settled, said Alister Jack, who clearly didn’t get where he is today without bringing his business acumen to bear on the awful separatists who bullied the state broadcaster’s Scottish lodge into not displaying frenzied British nationalist rituals at Glesga’s Proms in the Park a couple of years ago.

Not a note of Land of Hope and Glory, Jerusalem or Rule Britannia disturbed the evening air on Glasgow Green that night, much to the disgruntlement of the apoplectic business tycoon with the business skills needed to do the business on us vile normalists.

Wee Davey Mundell was a lot of things during the years of his political zenith, chinless, spineless, ethically challenged and moveable in principle in the protection of his shot at ermine, to name just a few, but he was always careful, unless under extreme pressure, to be respectful of the potential that the democratic will of the people he was, in name only, supposed to be representing, shifted in balance towards self-government. This guy? Not so much.

Like much of what now forms the cabinet of Westminster’s Brexit government Alister Jack’ s job will be to act as a blunt instrument. Others, like Raab C Brexit, Not Priti at all on the inside Patel and Michael, I used to be Scottish but didn’t like it, Gove, are there to apply blunt force and ignorance to the ordinary working folk of the UK, the EU, who will show them the toe end of their boot, and, in Raab’s case, to massage Trump’s ego.

Jack’s job is clearly to push Scotland to the limit and then call our bluff.

Every time I hear him speak, and he’s only been in the job for five minutes, I am reminded of my dear auld grandmother, and I picture thousands of Scots all across the country looking at their tv screens and thinking out loud the words my gran would have said listening to him….

“You’d better change that attitude laddie, and quick, or you and me are gonnae fall oot!”

(A quick update on my recent encounter of being targeted maliciously by person or persons unknown, resulting in multiple bans of posting this blog to Indy Facebook groups, following my plea below from yesterday’s blog post…

“Therefore can I ask this of you? In an effort to partially negate this shutdown of free speech, which is certainly not abusive or offensive, the intent is to shed light through humour, would you mind, if you are a regular reader of the blog on Facebook, and you haven’t done so before, clicking on the site page ‪itisintruthnotforglory.wordpress.com‬ and click the ‘follow’ button?  This then will help reduce any reliance I have on having to post to Facebook myself, attracting a smack on the hand and a long stand in the social media bad boy corner. Feel free too to post the blog onto any indy sites you may be a member of”.

…… your response has been magnificent. Many thanks to everyone so far who has taken the time to follow the blog on WordPress, and then posted it on social media. This is certainly helping to overcome what looks like an attempt to shut me down).

Independence is normal.

Onwards to a 1950’s retro-fest


Hi folks
A personal plea before today’s post. As a Scot firmly committed to my country returning to its rightful self-governing state I have been writing satirical political blogs and posts about Scottish sovereignty since 2013.

I established, and have been writing ‘itisintruthnotforglory’ now for over three and a half years. During all of this time I have posted my blogs to several of the many Facebook groups supportive of a self-governing Scotland, without the slightest hint of a problem. That is until the last five weeks. Almost every post I make now attracts a Facebook ban, four hours, up to two, or one occasion, three days.
Yesterday took the Tea cake. In light of the current tsunami of change in the government at Westminster I re-posted an innocuous poem I wrote in 2014 prior to the first referendum on Scottish independence, only to find that this post has attracted not one, but four separate Facebook suspensions barring me from posting anything to Facebook groups until a point in time on Friday.  I’ve tried appealing these but I get no response or I get a message telling me they are not able to deal with my query at this time.
This is all new to me. I’m not one for conspiracy theories but I suspect someone somewhere is playing mischief, or doesn’t like me pointing out anti-independence propaganda where I see it, or my use of phrases like Rowdy Ruth Davidson and the Viceroy of Joy (who for the umpteenth time hasn’t resigned again but topically has just misjudged his importance to the Empire 2 project).
Therefore can I ask this of you? In an effort to partially negate this shutdown of free speech, which is certainly not abusive or offensive, the intent is to shed light through humour, would you mind, if you are a regular reader of the blog on Facebook, and you haven’t done so before, clicking on the site page ‪itisintruthnotforglory.wordpress.com‬ and click the ‘follow’ button?  This then will help reduce any reliance I have on having to post to Facebook myself, attracting a smack on the hand and a long stand in the social media bad boy corner. Feel free too to post the blog onto any indy sites you may be a member of.

Anyway, on to the machinations at Westminster as the newly anointed last Prime Minister of the UK goes about the business of replacing one set of unprincipled right-wing self-servers with a new set of particularly extreme unprincipled right-wing self-servers, hell-bent on the destruction of everything in their path. Without the assurance of a mandate at a General Election ballot box Johnson is not just reshuffling a cabinet, he is removing, and swapping them wholesale. This is unprecedented without the authority of the electorate. It’s a coup without the tanks!

At this significant time of change I had planned to watch much of the coverage of the day’s political events, as the robotic Theresa May bowed out and the political world’s answer to Bernard Manning with a posh accent stepped into the spotlight, but only managed to get as far as a half hour’s coverage of the clownfest of the Commons chamber, as one by one the bobbers and weavers, following the archaic parliamentary procedures of the place, queued up to say what a great job the outgoing May had done. That was enough for me. Life is too short to waste it on that.

It occurred to me whilst watching what passes for the workings of government in the UK, this comic theatre, that surely anyone who is in a swither about whether the people of Scotland should govern themselves can surely see, if exposed to this out-dated music hall type nonsense for longer than the TV news soundbites, that anything going on in that chamber is not in the interests of progressive good governance. Small children mixing in a nursery playground are more productive.

After the dust had settled (the little old lady of London having been duly consulted) during his speech outside ‪10 Downing Street‬ in the afternoon, the new Premier described the nations of the disUnited Kingdom as the “awesome foursome that are incarnated in that red, white, and blue flag. Who together are so much more than the sum of their parts, and whose brand and political personality is admired and even loved around the world.”

Talk about blinkered, one-track and delusional! Interpreting that statement into its actual meaning is easy. It is great, this Union, we get to use up the assets and resources of two other countries and a bit of another one, which has partly escaped, without them all complaining too much, and we are so good at this con after years of ingrained indoctrination that the brand and political identification that is England (he does mean England, not the millions of ordinary good folk of England, the small elite establishment) gets away with it.

Oh how we laughed, if it had been funny, that the longstanding man of straw of Scottish politics, the Secretary of State Against Scotland, has been sacked. That brand new hub in Edinburgh, with its specially designed cabinet room, will never feel the tread of his brogues across its lush carpet. He gambled one last go at his tired tried and tested flip-flop resigning issue which turns into a sycophantic vote of confidence in the person or the policy he originally was threatening resignation about, and lost. It seems that Brexit’s new pin up boy has a long memory, as reports now coming out suggest that wee Davey was instrumental amongst the Scottish branch of the Tories in putting their penny’s worth in to central HQ to help kybosh Johnson’s last run at the big job in 2016. Oh well, the ermine cloak will have to wait a bit longer, although I’m not sure constitutionally how he will be placed in terms of ascending to the Lords once Scotland returns to independence. He’ll maybe need to drape a Harrods tea towel around his neck and just play pretendy Lord in front of a mirror instead.

His replacement seems fun. A hugely high profile Scottish Tory that hardly anybody has heard anything about. I had high hopes that the MP for SNP Gain, our friend from Aberdeen, would rise to the top, a blog writer’s dream. But even Boris Johnson is not that screamingly bonkers enough to appoint him to any position of responsibility. Having fawned over the new Prime Minister like Nicholas Witchell at a Buckingham Palace garden party for a good while now it’s clear, according to photos of said MP for SNP Gain yesterday, petted lip tripping him, that he is not best pleased with the reshuffle outcome. His Clark’s Kicker’s won’t be leaving any tread marks on the fancy new carpet in the New Waverley Hub either.

No, we’re going to have Alister Jack, another effort from Big Hairy Fermer country, but with a personal fortune of a gazillion spondooliks and some acreage. Och well then, he’ll surely be attuned to the needs of the common people. According to a Twitter wag this morning a Scottish Tory ‘frontbencher’ is quoted as saying “Alister is capable but the reason he is so popular with the UK party is because he invites ministers to his country estate.”

As this and many other of Boris Johnson’s first moves in government show, Jacob Rees-Mogg being appointed Leader of the House of Commons being another, the UK is heading for a forward to the past 1950’s political retro-fest. If only the Suez crisis had never happened eh! Dark times indeed.

Scotland has a way out of this. Independence is normal, and increasingly independence is an imperative.

A Nation


A Nation
A land of purple heather, of bothies and of glens,
of castles, and of monuments, of mighty snow-capped Bens.
A harsh and brutal landscape the Romans could not tame,
Its beauty takes your breath away, it’s never twice the same.
Deep inside, a nation’s soul, imbedded to survive.
Scots overcome adversity, to flourish side by side.
Innovation, ingenuity, strong passions to succeed.
With a conscience for the greater good, not besmirched by greed.
You can sing old songs and ballads bloody,
Of loss and daring do.
Of freedom, and of heroes gone,
of tyranny, past and new.
But unless you stand up and take that leap,
and have faith to cut the ties,
the lads of Eton and their like,
will continue to exploit you with their lies.
A defiant anthem dearly held in its proud refrain,
In the past, days of glory, they must always remain.
But it is time to step forward now, old Union is on the wane,
and grasp self-determination, to be a Nation again.
Ally Farquhar (2014)

“Never cast a cloot…”


So there we have it. The marmalade-stained ballot paper, casually misplaced within the supplement pages of the Mail on Sunday and then found again, has been wiped with a cloth by a Polish cleaning lady, working for a pound less an hour than minimum wage, and a cross has been placed in the appropriate place. England expects.
Barring a miracle it seems likely that  the next tenant of ‪10 Downing Street‬ will be someone whom only a year or two ago the vast majority of voters would have laughed at if his name had been mentioned in connection with the role he is about to take over, before Brexit. Like his counterpart across the Atlantic it would have been considered unthinkable that someone like him could ascend to such a position, a crass joke. Yet here we are.
What now for Scotland? Five years of Westminster procrastination and inertia. Stick to the party line, do not deviate, do not concede that circumstances have changed, although they have and are soon to alter drastically .

Repeat ad-nauseam ‘ The people of Scotland have had their once in a generation say, they want to shelter from life’s ills, safely pooling and sharing resources amid the broad shoulders of our precious union’. Do not, whatever you do, accept that the voters of Scotland have, at the ballot box, given their political representatives a legitimate mandate to seek their views further on how they see their future best served. Deny this fact at every opportunity.

Always, always refer to the party of Scottish government and majority in Scottish representation at the palace of Westminster incorrectly as the Scottish ‘Nationalist’ Party.  The way of Theresa May.
Ruffling his own hair just prior to TV interviews, getting into bumbling character, appearing confused, turning on the charm, the personable one-liner’s, rambling in the Latin of a character in a Victorian novel of dazzling Empire. This is another political creature altogether, chameleon-like and not to be under-estimated. We’ll see what he wants us to see of him, and no more. Outwardly a loose cannon, we’ve never really seen what lies beneath.
It has already been mooted that one of his first acts as Prime Minister will involve a trip to Scotland to demonstrate his commitment to the union. However in so doing there are no plans during this visit for him to meet with the First Minister of Scotland. He doesn’t want to appear like a visiting politician from another country coming to Scotland when he is the Prime Minister of Great Britain, all of it, his advisors say, thus too avoiding the potential for a second Westminster Prime Minister in a row to be photographed with the First Minister at Bute House with the symbolic backdrop of the saltire flag of Scotland dominating the scene (the absence of the flag of union not playing well in the London-based media).
He’s a meddler, with a string of headline ideas turning to expensive dust, if the stories of his time as London mayor are correct (riot control water cannons anyone, or 46 million pounds of public money spent on a city garden bridge which never got to construction phase perhaps?) We can all see the obvious dangers of translating that dubious form into the leadership of a government.
He’s made it clear he intends to campaign strongly to revive the image of the union in Scotland. Therefore prepare to be drowning in red, white and blue, military open days, royal visits, the Red Arrows will come zooming out of clouds of E-cigarette vapour in a town near you sometime soon, and the airwaves will be awash with even more nostalgic street party-like Great British TV. ‘We had rationing for fourteen years until 1954 so Brexit will be easy’, ‘let’s have a singsong around the piano’, ‘plucky Jock knows the score’.
There is a school of thought that the rise of yet another of the Bullingdon Club to the top of the political pile will hasten the return of self-government for Scotland. It is thought that what looks like being the inevitable interference from the incoming Premier in aspects of the devolution settlement, messing with the Barnett formula, promoting direct funding from London in Scotland, involving Scottish Tories who have no portfolio in decision-making whilst ignoring the legitimate government of Scotland, and building provincial bases in Edinburgh and Glasgow, complete with cabinet meeting rooms, will be too much for Scottish voters to accept.  Scots will baulk at any attempt to rollback twenty years of devolution. The tipping point will be reached.
I hope for the sake of the Scotland’s future that this is correct. However the last thing we should do is under-estimate the man’s ability to use smoke and mirrors to get his way. He’s worth the watching.

Standing up for Scotland? Aye right


Who would have guessed it? (Just about everybody with a pulse, and even an iota of interest in Scottish politics I would think). The Scottish Tory fanboys, and girls, are at it again, flashing their knicker elastic at Boris Johnson as he ascends to the lofty position of being the last Prime Minister of a long worn out union.
The member for SNP gain, his pal with the dodgy offside flag and slippery moulded studs, and the rest of the loathsome  band of unionist tools of the establishment, and tools they are indeed, joined the Viceroy, still high on the prospects of his shiny new office building, in trying to pave the way for Johnson to lock down Westminster, stopping all parliamentary business, and forcing through a no-deal Brexit.

A cunning dastardly plan cooked up by some real dastards to side-step the fact that the majority of MP’s at Westminster are no’ as daft as they look, and are therefore entirely against the mental self-immolating idea of leaving the European Union with nothing but the holes in the arses of their troosers, and yesterday’s nut from the top of a walnut whip.
What happened to those heady post-election days when these Scottish pillars of democracy posed for team phoaties at the foot of the cliff that Stirling Castle sits upon, facing  Dumbarton Road, at the spot where the convoys of nuclear missiles come rumbling down the road on a regular basis, with Rowdy Ruth Davidson, who keeps disappearing every time she might be asked an awkward question about the wildly dysfunctional political party she works for, (apparently as we career headlong into the maelstromashic prospect of an idiot in power on both sides of the Atlantic plus Brexit she has been oot in her back garden building a shed).
In those early days of 2017 this lot were telling us how they were going to be a voice for Scotland, holding power to account, working together to ensure the views of Scotland’s people are paramount in their every political step forward, even if it meant going against the party line. Ruth told us that, all resolute and leader-like.  What happened to all of that?
They’ve voted entirely on party political lines ever since, that’s what’s happened to that, and some of them, we all know who, salivate, sook, batter their eyelashes, laugh like a hyena in all the right places, clap like a crowd scene at a Kim Jongh-il poetry recital in Pyongyang, and wallow in sycophancy every time the shaggy-headed former Bullingdon Club member gets within five feet of them.  One in particular clearly thinks he’s top of the list to become the next Viceroy of Joy, heaven help us.
These people, voted in to their positions of responsibility and privilege by the people of Scotland, have just tried to help an entirely unqualified ego-maniac to cause a financial catastrophe for their own country as well as the country Scotland is governed by, for the sake of their own careers. Just think about that for a minute.
Thankfully they were foiled.
Scotland has a way out of this, it’s called independence, the normal status of most other countries in the world. It’s time that happened.

P.S Something in this post has just got me banned temporarily from posting to groups on Facebook, therefore if you have managed to read it could you please share it in any indy group pages you are a member of, seeing as I can’t. Many thanks.

No, no. Look over here! Look at me!


Nurse! Nurse! He’s out again. That shoogly lock on the bedroom window of the manse has snapped off again. There’s been an intervention, an intervention which has taken place in the intervening period since the last time he intervened just after his previous intervention.

Gordy Broon is once again front and centre, or wide right then centre, then wide left then centre, repeat until the mixture thickens, if you take into consideration the 10,000 step workout he must get pacing back and forwards in front of his regular captive audience of wilting interventioneestas, their heids swivelling back and forth following his movements, like kittens following a torch beam.
This time he is launching a new think tank called, wait for it, ‘Our Scottish Future’. It’s time to put the positive case forward for the union, says Gordy, the progressive case for Scotland and Scotland’s role in Britain. It’s gonnae be great, it’s gonnae be upbeat, optimistic, constructive and self-affirming.

Therefore naturally the inaugural event for this new think tank, to be staged next month in Edinburgh, is to focus solely on ripping the pish right out of the SNP’s plans for a Scottish pound in a return to the days of our old friend Project Fear’s “what currency will you use?” mantra. Yes, that sounds pretty upbeat and positive about making the union’s case, doesn’t it.
Browns’ choice of words at the launch of this organisation (maybe they can borrow Ruth Davidson’s tank to think in) was revealing. He talked of speaking up for “mainstream” Scots, and making a “progressive” case for the union.  Gordy still thinks, in his dotage, that there is a vast Labour supporting public in Scotland, and hasnae quite grasped that those that he considers the mainstream have long since seen through the neo-liberal New Labour experiment that he was so central in creating with his pal, and sometime rival, the Hague dodger.

He doesn’t have any clout with the mainstream of Scottish society anymore because that mainstream have remained committed to their political roots, championing social justice, supporting public services, promoting fairness and equality, whilst his party completely lost the plot, in ways that would have their founders spinning in their graves, becoming an irrelevant shadow of their former selves, an organisation almost indistinguishable from the established elite they were originally set up to fight against.
As each day passes the number of that “mainstream” of Scots who are waking up to the idea that the only way to achieve progressive governance for their country which fits with their views and their aspirations for the future is to take the ordinary step of becoming a normal self-governing member of the family of nations of the world is increasing. The lights are coming on all over Scotland, the momentum is building, and Gordy simply does not get that.

Labour votes are not weighed in Scotland anymore Gordon, they are framed and put on display in museums as relics of the past. We have long memories. You are living in the past and your party is not coming back.
Taking the biscuit, in fact taking the biscuit tin, the quote from Brown on this occasion most likely to cause anyone with any knowledge of politics in Scotland and the UK at all to choke on a gub full of rice crispies, causing recycled milk to fire out of a nostril onto any unsuspecting breakfast partners this morning, is a classic, a red neck you simply couldnae paint on this fella, “ There’s no chance of breaking free of austerity under the SNP” he says.

Can you believe it?  This is a man, when he was Prime Minister, who spent a fortune in public money bailing out the banks, dramatically increasing the national debt, and giving the Tories who then ousted him the perfect excuse to follow an austerity for everybody else but themselves agenda ever since.

Thanks for that Gordon. Back into the wardrobe for you, as soon as we find where you dumped your straitjacket.
Independence is entirely normal. The case for it is becoming more compelling and urgent by the day.