So there we have it. Eat your cereal Scotland, and when you’ve finished eating your cereal (which type, by the way, we bought for you, even though we know you don’t like it, with your own money, money that you’ll now need to pay us back) stand over there in the corner and look wretched and pathetic until we decide what to do with you next. You didn’t vote for Brexit but you are most definitely getting it.
As a Scot who believes in democracy, now, on the edge of 2021, it is clear to me, as I’m sure it is to you, that this deeply entrenched longstanding system of governance where an ancient sovereign nation is being done to rather than doing for ourselves must cease, and it must cease soon.
There is much spin and obfuscation of the waters going on right now over the token Brexit deal that Johnson’s comedy act government spilled into the public domain just before Christmas, ensuring that the majority of the population were too busy doing other things to think about Brexit, tying the whole thing up in red tape and 1246 pages. The pathetic sight of Boris Johnson dancing around the screen with document in hand over the festive season was surely enough to induce an involuntary bout of the boak in many a viewer. It’s only set to get worse over the next few days as the Tories preen themselves over their new insular narrow-minded English nationalist ‘freedom’.
The Scottish fishing industry and farming sector are set to get it tight, the London government’s play things, (oh what a surprise) economists reckon removing European citizenship will cost Scotland upwards of 9 billion quid, and we’re going to be at a distinct and significant competitive disadvantage to another part of the UK which has better access rights to a market we were already in until this Friday, but gave away. All this, and more depletion in the financial and services sectors.
The Tories, and worse, Labour (oh how far they have fallen from grace) are now spinning nonsense about the democratically elected majority Scottish party members of their parliament, not ours, voting next week for as they describe it, a “No deal” Brexit, like the SNP not voting for their diminishing terms would make any difference to the outcome of the vote.
This of course is as fatuous and mendacious as much of their other fabling on ‘Once in a lifetime referendums’, Vows (I heard the other day that Gordon Brown now states, to everyone who will listen, that it was delivered!) and the federalism myth.
Scotland voted by a clear majority (62%) to remain in the European Union. The SNP members of the majority English parliament, in England, will vote to reflect that the people they serve want to be progressive outward looking citizens of the European Community, not extras with funny accents in Dad’s Army.
English nationalist politicians, their ermine chasing acolytes in Scotland, and their media can spin the story any way they like, but the truth is the Tories and Labour will be voting for what will become a withering dose of economic, financial and cultural self- harm, or “bumpy moments” as the loathsome Gove describes it. Those representing constituencies in Scotland will be going against the direct wishes of the people they represent by doing so, whilst the SNP will be respecting the wishes of the folk that put their trust in them to stand on their behalf.
It is time to go Scotland. We just need to decide the manner in which we do so. In a true democracy, where the will of the people is inviolable, I do not advocate seeking the permission of another country to commence a process returning our country to rightful sovereignty.
She can’t really win, being the First Minister of Scotland, can she, that Nicola Sturgeon?
See all of that not showing an unhealthy interest in hiding in fridges or disappearing for weekends and, curiously, spells of time during the working week, not expressing herself publically at any time during a withering, worsening and now mutating into an even more infectious, viral pandemic with bombast or bluster, clearly being genuinely upset at the sorrowful outcomes of the spread of the virus, as opposed to the pathetic ham acting crocodile tears of the plainly weird and dangerously incompetent character who is the English Secretary of Health, bending over backwards to halt all discussion of politics, or seeking a political edge or advantage whilst focusing on Covid-19 and working herself to exhaustion trying to protect her country-folk, see all of that, it really isn’t playing out well with the unionist vested interested media or her political opponents, is it?
She attends the funeral of a Scottish Government staff member, who passed away as a result of the Covid-19 virus, and whilst leaving the wake is snapped by somebody at the venue taking off her mask whilst talking to some folk at a nearby, but socially distanced away, table, a joker who then sends it off to the journalistic equivalent of a sewage pit for a front page, full page exposé of her secretly shunning of the rules (this whilst the mad bumbling Muppet with the wild hair who apparently governs the UK has been filmed and photographed dozens of times over the last several months standing close up to colleagues, health workers and the general public, bellowing mindless toffy-nosed nonsense and Covid germs all over the top of anyone in spittle shot, whilst passers-by actively move away from him, and his big stupid grinning puss, lest he stick his pudgy paw out, that he’s just wiped his pompous privileged beak with, for a virus transferring handshake, with not a peep in the media about it). Then the British state broadcaster got it, and we’re off on running on a constant repeat reel until somebody somewhere on high tells them to move on to the next separatist putdown story.
Then the Johnson Press gets in on the act, and up comes similar ‘I’m telling the teacher on you’ articles in the ‘Not The’ Scotsman, followed by the Fawkurt Herald.
My goodness, they are pathetic. Being savaged by that lot is like having yer ankle sooked to the point of mild cramp by a toothless geriatric Jack Russell. No wonder the Hootsmon’s readership has sunk to dangerously low levels. (Eeek I better stop using phrases like that, it sounded like something the orange balloon, soon to be formerly of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, would say).
The British State broadcaster then got in on it, and we’re off and running, on an unrelenting round of repeat reporting until they can find something else to beat those of an independence mind over the head with.
You can rest assured, even though there’s about 3,000 trucks floating around Kent stinking of rotting prawns, spoiled jam, HP sauce, and Princes salmon spread, most of their drivers trying not to refight the Battle of Britain whilst parked on the former runway of Manston RAF station, the NHS is swamped with new cases of the virus as thousands of folk, who simply refuse to stay where they are, move around the major cities of England like giant gangs of meerkats trying to find ways to get out to the rest of the countries of the UK, the shelves in the shops are emptying at double the speed they usually would at Christmas, which is therefore just short of the speed of light, and the European Union hasn’t blinked yet, and wont, this story will still run and run and run….’Nikla whips off mask, and says words, out loud! Fetch the pitchforks and flaming torches!’
Then, as if that’s no’ bad enough, the poor woman, barely having had an hour to herself since before Burns Night, gets hit by a particularly obtuse question in Holyrood by the clinically obtuse and perpetually failing attempted media headline maker, not very Tricky Dicky Leonard.
Words almost failed her when the Trickster, known for his witty repartee, quick wit and thinking on his feet whilst public speaking, not (he’s been verbally slapped so many times by the FM that his red coupon now spins like it’s on a turntable) decided he’d have a go at her, basing his attack on the premise of the new strain of the deadly virus being purported to be 70% more catchable than the original strain.
He started off by getting into her for shutting down all of the places where folk gather, places where a virulent bug can spread like a Dairylea triangle on a hot toasted ootsider, for an indefinite period, how terrible and drastic of her.
Clearly the choob thinks she should have a crystal ball which will tell her what dates in the future the nasty fast spreading bug, as well as the nasty not so fast spreading bug, have booked four weeks in Cancun, thus leaving pubs, restaurants and all public buildings to open up again safely.
Then Tricky got into his stride with his clearly much-pencil-scraping-and-rubbing-oot prepared play on words to do with the 70% theme he was pitching, launched intae his JFK “ask not what your country can do for you’ moment…..
“…And if the new strain of the virus is 70% more transmissible than the original virus, will the government urgently increase the number of daily tests carried out in Scotland by 70%? Improve the capacity, utilisation and performance of Test and Protect by 70%, and will the First Minister commit today, as soon as it is practically possible, to a 70% acceleration in the rollout of the vaccination programme?”
No one in the chamber would have been the slightest bit surprised I’m sure if an aged teacher of his from primary school had shambled up to him, patted him on the heid, and called him a clever boy! What magnificent oration, a worthy contender for future First Minister in a kid-on Labour Scottish Shangri la!
Resisting the temptation to cross the floor of the chamber to scud the simplifier’s simplifier roon the back of the napper, for just being stupid, (where dae they get these people?) the First Minister once again responded in her usual trip off the tongue verbally crushing manner, explaining the reality of trying to keep some form of control over a completely invisible force which is trying like a bear with a grudge to reduce the population of the planet, changing course, mutating and moving forward by the hour, and being entirely unpredictable, a force if left unchecked which will entirely overwhelm the health service and lead to yet more deaths of the innocent, who are not political pawns, they are real live, loving, caring human beings.
I think too that the Dickster needs to understand that Nicola Sturgeon may be the democratic leader of Scotland’s government, which is pretty impressive, but she’s not a magical alchemist. She cannae transform 85 thousands crates of Irn Bru Xtra intae Covid-19 vaccine. She’s not that good. The roll out of vaccines is entirely dependent on how quickly supplies can be obtained from suppliers. The when is not within her knowledge or control.
I don’t think I’d have her patience in that job, would you? I think I’d have been telling him to go away and spend the Christmas break thinking about next year spending 70% of his time looking for a new job.
She really cannae win, apart from strongly at the ballot box.
Let Drew Hendry be just the first, the beginning of the democratically elected members of Scottish constituencies at Westminster, those who are not wedded to the ambition of ermine and 30 pieces of silver, unleashing a concerted campaign of peaceful civil disruption of parliamentary proceedings unseen in modern times.
Let it happen every day that parliament sits, let every single ludicrously outdated parliamentary rule be exploited, made to look foolish, let there be delays, suspensions, walk outs, disruptions of votes and committees. Let farce be exposed as farce.
Let there be communal farting sounds from the SNP benches every time Boris Johnson stumbles to his feet to speak, resulting in delays as each offender is named and suspended for the day, week, month, forever.
Let them half-inch the speaker’s robe, relocate the mace to the back of the room, or lift it up and twirl it around their heads every day, until an usher rushes to the scene.
Let them consistently and without waver describe the Tories during debates or speeches as ‘the English Nationalist Party’ (childish I know but it would give me a bit of satisfaction).
Let them use the word ‘liar’ when it is accurate to do so, and let them change seats, crossing over the chamber and sitting wherever they like, randomly, social distancing accepted,
Let them hum ‘Ode to Joy’ individually, one at a time, be sanctioned and then refuse to leave until they are each, one at a time, over many minutes, physically hoyed oot the chamber by big beefy lads wearing silly coats and 18th century pantaloons.
They were admonished for it early on in their time in the Commons chamber, in a patronising way if I remember right by wee John Bercow, who I have a lot of time for it must be said, but bring on a round of clapping every so often, and of the slower variety when the likes of Rees-Mogg, Gove and Patel et al start waffling, and no kidding, even the odd five bench Mexican wave, resulting in immediate sanction, would stave off the torpor of listening to Rugby and Eton over-educated, under-intelligent windbags droning on for hours about the torture of salt of the earth landowning hunt masters bemoaning having to see the sails of windfarms on the distant horizon adjacent to their ten thousand acres.
The actions of the MP for Inverness, Nairn, Badenoch and Strathspey yesterday during a debate about this much fabled (most of us had never heard of it until this year, and up until now it didn’t matter that we hadn’t) and over-hyped (you can only buy so many jars of English fruit jam before you get scunnered with jam) ‘Internal Market’ Bill are exactly what I except our representatives at Westminster to be doing right now in this settling up, not settling in, period of the much later than it should have, final fall of the delusional remnants of the empire with a small e, incompetently governed by men with complexes about their body parts and fetishes about Winston Churchill, and a smirking bully, who, despite being found guilty of treating her staff inappropriately, appears to be Teflon coated.
In fact this is exactly what I hoped our representatives would have been doing much earlier than this, better late than never.
As each new democratic mandate to progress the cause of self-government has arrived it has become increasingly frustrating to watch our people be scorned, laughed at, shouted over, ignored, sworn at (on occasion) whistled at, deliberately be called inaccurately the ‘Scottish Nationalist Party” (when the only real narrow nationalists in the place are the English nationalists doing the belittling) not consulted and disrespected.
The recent example of Joanna Cherry QC, SNP MP for Edinburgh South West, in the weeks before the ill-prepared, confused, incompetently handled self-immolation that is to come with the end of the Brexit transition period, standing up in the Commons to ask a perfectly reasonable and rational question about whether the UK Government’s Immigration Minister and his team have any plans soon to meet with the Scottish Government’s equivalent to talk about the (possibly disastrous consequences for Scotland) end of free movement, only to be met by a tirade of snidey-ness from a jumped up Tory Under Secretary for Immigration about the SNP wanting to employ cheap labour, looking to rebuild Hadrian’s Wall whilst getting the English to pay for it, a Trump-like imbecilic childish snipe, guffaw guffaw, sums up the whole farce of this so-called Union of equals. But hey ho, two can play at that game, and its’ time to do it.
What the right-wing Muppets of the now near non-existent ukip (because they have been re-absorbed into the Tories) infiltrated Brexiteer party of government fail en masse, and on every occasion, to recognise, and this is one of their major mistakes when it comes to their dealings on Scotland, is that all of the mocking and insulting they continue to display against the majority of Scotland’s MP’s at Westminster, and the Scottish Government at Holyrood, also mocks and insults the majority of the people of Scotland, who voted for these people to represent them. It insults us all.
This, amongst the many failings of this clearly dysfunctional tragi-comedy government, historians in future will note, is a grave mistake. A mistake that, in their arrogance, they never even noticed they were making, and will be the downfall of their Union.
The red faced unkempt man, making an expensive Savile Row suit look like an auld tattie sack tied in the middle, not two strands of his hair trained to sit on his head facing in the same direction at any given time, his face contorted into a half grimace, half stupid grin, put on for the assembled press corp, descended the steps from the RAF Voyager, resplendent in its recently repainted sparkling red, white and blue, completed for a meagre sum of around a cool million pounds of tax-payers money, at Brussels airport.
Waving, he quickly climbed into the back of the fortified Range Rover sent to meet him.
He addressed his assistant, already seated, thus, “Well Baldrick, have we come up with any ideas about how we are going to get out of this one? The shelves in Waitrose are emptying, the highways and byways of Kent are a car park, some wag in the House has described the M20 as Farage’s Garage, We’re off to meet this confounded European Union filly who doesn’t like the cut of my jib, I can’t think why, we’re now less than three weeks away from a total monetary disaster, and the Jockanese are revolting again. They’re always up to something, how tiresome, what a loathsome lot.”
“Yes Prime Minister, as it happens I have thought about it. In my capacity as the Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, Minister for the Cabinet Office and second reserve Witch-finder General for the Borough of Turnip on the Wold I have had cause to give it a great deal of thought, at some considerable length” said the rubber-faced man with the permanently startled look upon his face, adjusting his glasses, “and I, I have a cunning plan!”.
The shaggy-haired man replied “Thank goodness for that. Does it involve picking a particularly innocent unsuspecting part of the middle-east, perhaps via a dart flung at a dartboard, and then firing devastating rockets at its major cities, to divert attention from Brexit, and perhaps we can save face and cancel, or postpone?”
The man with the face more naturally satirised than a Spitting Image puppet, now looking a bit confused said, simply “No.”
“Ah well then, does it involve us making all public land and gardens in the country into compulsory vegetable allotments, rationing corned beef, building an electric fence on the coastline between Land’s End and Margate, whilst ensuring that the Channel is teeming with gunboats Nelson would be proud of?” said the leader of the UK government.
“Eh, No” said the increasingly bewildered specky latex head.
“Ah, well, you must mean that we’ll regurgitate all of that telling the Scots that they’ve had their referendum, and democracy, our form of it, won on the day trope. We’ll spin that out-of-context stuff again about it being a ‘once in a generation’ event, and then I’ll have Rees-Mogg call up the DG of the Beeb to raise the Project Fear threat level a notch or three on the too little, too poor, too dependent fairy tale?”
“Well actually….” Said the now slightly intoxicated rubbery man, thinking seriously about it, having helped himself to the bottle of gin secreted in the back seat of the Range Rover, “No”.
“Are you suggesting then that I propose marriage to the President of the European Commission Balders? She’s already married, and I think she’s got nearly as many children as I have! No I’m not doing that, no, no, not in any circumstances!”
“No, No Prime Minister, nothing as drastic as that. I have a cunning plan that can’t possibly fail. It is brilliant, and will save the day. England will be victorious. Rule Britannia, We are saved! Nay Nonny Nay Nonny, twice round the Maypole, Nay Nonny Nonny!” said the clearly inebriated Gove.
Looking somewhat disappointed and wary now Prime Minister Boris Johnson turned to his unsteady colleague “Okay Baldrick, let me hear your cunning plan to rescue the country from what Brexit is about to do?”
With a lengthening grin, the apparently at some point before he got rid of it, Scottish accented, Michael Gove, turned, took a further slurp of gin out of the near empty bottle, and said “It’s easy Prime Minister, in fact it came to me last night in a dream, and it’s as easy as growing giant parsnips on St Parsnips Day in the village of Pars-Nip.”
“Come on then man, out with it. Another five minutes and we’ll be at the European Commission building, quick, tell me how we are going to save the country?’ said the now panicking Slackbladder.
“It’s simple. We hide all of next year’s calendars!”
Johnson, his face betraying a sense of utter disbelief and desperation, thought for a few moments before he spoke. When he did he had regained calmness, eyes narrowing, he said “Do you know something Baldrick, you might just be on to something there.”
It’s very sad, but somehow fitting at this particular time, to hear that wee Bab’s Windsor, one of the few Windsor’s who ever had tae work for a living, has passed away after her long progressive illness.
A British institution was this wee fireball of the screen, who made her name starring in the long series of ‘Carry On’ movie comedies of the 1960’s, before moving on in later years to appear as a regular in a long standing soap opera.
She passes away at a time which history will record as seeing the imaginary fictional farce of British life depicted so well by Barbara, Sid James, Kenneth Williams et al in the movies replaced by actual real farce portrayed so incompetently by a government, and a Prime Minister who are the laughing stock of Western Europe and further beyond.
Prepare for No Deal is Boris Johnson’s latest war cry, having dashed off to Brussels, to save the day, in a badly fitting suit (as my dear auld gran used tae say “it fits him where it grips him”), pausing for a photo opportunity with the EU delegation, which made him and his sidekick look like Bernie Winters and his big shaggy dug, guffawing a bit, emitting the phrase “jolly good” several times raucously, squirting water on EU Commission President Ursula Von Der Leyen from a plastic flower in his collar, letting one loud windy bowel vibration loose, and then getting back on his plane again, having had his erse handed to him in a bio-degradable EU Health and Safety Eco-Friendly standard disposable bag. What a Muppet.
His partner- in-crime, as mentioned in yesterday’s post, the loathsome rubber-faced (Spitting Image couldnae improve that fizzer for projecting glaikitness), Michael Gove, is telling everybody who will listen that it’s a great thing that Brexit will impact Scotland, England and Wales disastrously, whilst the fact that they are not going to be involved in returning life in the UK to a period prior to 1973 will have a fantastic effect on the economy of the north of Ireland, which will have skyscrapers full of global corporate offices and financial service hubs cutting through the rainclouds by January’s end of month pay day, the Singapore of the north.
That’s ok though because England and Wales voted to go back to the days of Fanny Craddock and powdered eggs. Scotland? Not so much, in fact we voted overwhelmingly to stay in the 21st century as progressive Europeans. Another fault line clearly becoming visible, and growing by the day, in the dysfunctional Union of all for One, and One for One’s future I hear you call? Indeed it is, and so it should be. Reprehensible.
All the signs are there, the Tory talking heads on the news broadcasts, the innuendo, the tooling up of the like of the Daily hate Mail and Express, to blame all of what is coming (an economic nightmare that may trigger a Depression) on the European Union for not caving in to exceptionalism.
Common sense tells you, and it doesn’t take four and a half years of blustering post-imperial small man syndrome bluff to work out, that the EU will never under any circumstances allow a non-member country to enjoy the same trading privileges as a member, without the financial obligation or responsibilities of being a member. If they did they would have a revolt amongst the existing members on their hands.
Yes folks, be assured the Germans, French and others are about to be framed for the entirely self-inflicted disaster that Brexit will become, re-fuelling the unhealthy, inward looking, suspicious xenophobia of 2016 for a new year, but hey, the London government are going to spend the GDP of a small country on defence, creating the “greatest naval power in Europe” again, according to the bumbling hair-akimboed idiot who spends much of the time gazing at his own navel. Talk about regressive? How depressing.
It has been said countless times in the last five years, but Scotland really does have a way out of this. Our paths have diverged, our people’s expectations in terms of their governance has changed. The Union is crumbling.
It’s going to get rough before it gets better but when the East Coast Haar eventually clears the countries of mainland Britain will be neighbours, good neighbours, but no longer be party to a subsumed versus dominator relationship. Democracy will prevail in the end.
Mone then, let’s be having ye Colonel Ruth (don’t mention my ermine cloak fitting next week because I like to portray myself as a down to earth woman of the people) and former Viceroy of Joy, wee Davie Mundell. Let’s see the steadfast rigidity of your backbones.
Get that Word letter template up on your tax payer provided screen, and your signing pen at the ready, for the issue you so vigorously declared just two short years ago would be a resignation issue for you both, Northern Ireland to continue to have access to the EU single market after the Brexit transition period ends in a few weeks, whilst Scotland, disastrously won’t, has come to pass.
The announcement by the cringe-worthy Michael Gove “that businesses in Northern Ireland have the opportunity to enjoy the best of both worlds; access the the European single market, because there’s no infrastructure on the Island of Ireland, and at the same time unfettered access to the rest of the UK market”, is undoubtedly the spinniest spinny thing that was ever spun in a political world of ever increasing spin.
He is attempting to deceive us all into thinking the clown school government he represents have used their super-duper negotiation skills (celestial beings help us) to somehow overwhelm the EU (they must have flashed the we’re British, so there! card again) into allowing Northern Ireland to keep on having exactly the same rights, ties and trading connections to Europe as they and the rest of the UK have enjoyed for many years, which he suggests is great, whilst at the same time that same government he works for has spent four and a half years doing everything it possibly can to deny the people of Wales, Scotland, the land of his birth, and England, the country to which he holds sycophantic allegiance, access to the same rights and trading relationship. Wow that is some spin.
In reality the terms of the “Good Friday Agreement” were always going to dictate this outcome for Northern Ireland, unless the Tories fancied lighting the touch paper on another decade of ‘the Troubles’, and surely even Boris Johnson is not that crazy, particularly too now that the nutter who has been running round the White House in his silk underpants at midnight for four years, clutching his mobile phone set to his Twitter account in one hand, and a cheeseburger in the other, is for the Joe the Toff, to be replaced by a firmly pro-Irish soon-to-be octogenarian.
No, Northern Ireland’s good fortune is nothing to do with some sort of sudden highly unlikely burst of intelligent firm negotiation by the forces of isolationist John Bull exceptionalism. Not a chance.
What this development in the Brexit saga does however, (and this is the issue which the Ruthster and Davie Fluff highlighted at the time, an issue, which if they revisited their hot air pronouncements, made to impress voters at the time, should result now, if they were politicians of honour and integrity, in their resignation, they won’t because they are both comfily positioned at the public trough) is put Scotland, the country they are supposed to represent, at a distinct competitive disadvantage to another part of the UK with regards to future trading arrangements, economic growth and prosperity.
From 01 January any overseas businesses looking to set up shop in the UK will choose Northern Ireland, with the advantage of its continued access to the EU and its link to the UK ‘they don’t like it up them, the fuzzy wuzzies, Captain Mainwaring’ isolationist market, to open up premises and new plant, provide employment and contribute tax in, not Scotland.
Turning that around there will be businesses already established in Scotland, who once they’ve done the sums, will come to the conclusion that crossing the water will present them with a better opportunity to increase profits and grow their market. I’m sure you can think of many other examples.
All of this has huge ramifications for the likes of the innovative green technology that Scotland has the ability to be a world leader in, it’ll be stifled, a busted flush.
This competitive edge could literally be manna from heaven for the north of Ireland’s economy, and a disaster for Scotland, who like the citizens of Northern Ireland, never voted for Brexit in the first place.
This is yet another( in a now growing number now) open goal with the keeper away for a pie scenario for the Scottish Government, the SNP generally and the wider Yes Movement.
It is outrageous that firstly we were democratically ignored, ridiculed, ignored, undermined, excluded and despised, but now, now we have to be punished too. The only country of the four parts of the UK which won’t get what it’s citizens democratically voted for.
If the SNP cannot turn the consequences of this, and the other huge fault cracks of this dysfunctional unbalanced Union, cracks that are appearing almost daily now, into an independent Scotland I don’t know what we would have to do to achieve it.
After Scotland unequivocally voting to remain as outward looking citizens of Europe, part of a trading and cultural community of 450 million people, and being mocked, ignored and disrespected as a result by an increasingly right wing isolationist government from another country, a country that governs us mainly with a political party in power our citizens haven’t voted for for 60 odd years ( how’s that for democracy? Not), we find that the fate of our precariously balanced economic future now rests this evening on the ability of Boris Johnson to go easy on the brandy before dinner, desist with the misquotes from Homer’s Odyssey, not tell any racist jokes about the French or Germans, or fall over like a stranded turtle whilst singing “Two World Wars and a World Cup” before righting himself back onto his feet and trying to get the leg over the President of the European Commission Dr Ursula Von Der Leyen over the fish course.
I don’t fancy our chances, do you?
A no deal Brexit or even a half arsed mediocre face saving Brexit is not what Scotland voted for. We did not vote to self inflict a depression akin to the 1930’s. Whatever balls up the clown shoe cabal of posh over-promoted under-achievers, comedy singers, fake sentimental tear jerkers( did you see Matt Hancock on the breakfast show?) bullies and cringeworthy Scots born muppets bring about between now and the morning after Hogmanay will be the final nail in the coffin for their pitiful Union.
Oh the banter. Clearly as the nights have been fair drawing in somebody somewhere has made a huge mistake and left the pantry windae open in the auld manse, letting the minor, now irrelevant voices of unionism, still in their warm, tightly reinforced, cotton cross-armed jammies, oot, and by the looks of it they are growing in number.
Mibbees they could form their own break-away fringe party called the interventionists or something, as it seems to be a rising trend gaining momentum as the polls continue to reflect that the people of Scotland are now becoming clearer in greater numbers about their own country’s ability to govern itself more effectively than another country which puts its own interests first, on all occasions.
Having been quiet since he had tae chuck in the tax free expenses gig of the House of Lords after a ‘minor’ indiscretion…cough…knowing about Cyril Smith’s heinous behaviour whilst the leader of the Liberals but doing heehaw about it, former housewives choice of the 1970’s and 80’s (my Mam liked him, and she was Labour when Labour was Labour) David Steel, yet another son of the manse it seems, the former presiding officer of the Holyrood chamber, has staged an intervention and poked his neb in on the constitutional question, vaguely along the same lines as our serial intervener (for the first time every time) Gordy Broon, advocating this weird and wonderful concept that absolutely nobody wants, not the various regions of England, not the countries of union, not wee Tam in Bothkennar, or Trevor in Didsbury, or Denise fae the Rhonda Valley, the entirely unworkable federalism. Naebody wants it, amongst the electorate of the UK It has the backing of the middle of a doughnut (zero), it won’t work.
He didnae get tae where he is today without being fly when it comes to trying to sweeten the deal though old David, so bearing in mind he’s not got a vested interest in being part of the cushiest club in the parish anymore he’s suggesting like many alleged former progressives before him (way back in time) that the Palace of Westminster’s second chamber is abolished (yawn) in favour of a second chamber of actual worthy folk as opposed to sycophants, the rewarded force services to the establishment, the hereditarily privileged, and bra manufacturers.
All of this, reckons Steel, will clearly influence the many thousands of normally ordinary (in his mind) servile supplicants of the blessed mother England, whose loving arms provide an enduring embrace (like a giant anaconda wrapped roon yer airm) back into the fold, and Westminster can shut the gate on independence behind them. How delusional can former British politicians get?
Then in the spirit of ‘there’s nae show without punch’ out of the crypt came the repetitive Gordy himself to insist that if there was another independence referendum the people of Scotland would vote again to remain in the UK, branding the SNP as “out of touch” for even thinking about straying away from the Borg. I’ll take a pint of whatever it is he’s drinking! The sky is clearly purple in his world.
Clearly there is something in the water right now because right in the middle of all of this interventionista nonsense the historian who isnae actually a historian, the man who once described many thousands of ordinary human beings with perfectly reasonable political beliefs, whose only crime in his eyes is that they believe in the entirely normal proposition that their country should govern itself as a ‘cancer’, Neil Oliver, has mentioned in an interview that Scotland returning to being an independent country would infringe on his human rights as a British citizen! Wow, that rough Neil. We’d better just cancel the whole thing then eh.
As the bloke that once described the miserable circumstances surrounding the Highland Clearances as “They left their windswept crofts behind looking for adventure and the promised land” maybe, just maybe, if the idea of being from a medium sized progressive outward looking Northern European country governed by democratically elected representatives entirely focussed on, and accountable to, the people of Scotland, makes him baulk about his rights then perhaps the country of his birth is not his ‘promised land” (other products are available).
Out of touch doesn’t get anywhere near covering anything these folk have to say. To them it appears the sea change transformation in Scotland’s cultural and political self belief of the first part of the 21st century didn’t happen. Mental.
Always remember folks self-government is normal, being governed by another country, from another country, is not.
Oh dear. Hot on the heels of Andrew Bowie looking foolish talking into a camera, whilst standing on the tail end of a red, white and blue flag the size of Luxembourg, and trying to keep up with an autocue clearly set to two-and-a-half times normal reading speed, one of his chums, the chap who is supposed to be the leader of the Scottish Tories (from Westminster, work that one out?) Douglas ‘Chad Valley Version of VAR’ Ross, Glen Campbell’s ‘the itchybaw linesman’ (not the BBC reporter, the ither wan) has also somewhat publicly blotted his copybook.
After months of the Tories moaning about the fact that the First Minister of Scotland has had a platform to talk on telly on a daily basis to the people of Scotland about, trivialities like, you know, a deadly global pandemic, explaining what her and her limited powers government, and Scotland’s expert health professionals, are trying to do to keep people alive. (an exercise Nicola Sturgeon has been at pains to keep at arms-length from normal political discourse, despite almost daily media questions trying to get her to steer into politics) the Scottish unionists now are regularly given, for ‘balance’ the right to make comment on the daily updates, changes in advice and levels of lockdown tiers.
Therefore yesterday, in the days after the virtual winter conference of the party of Scottish government had taken place, clearly and most definitely a separate forum from the daily COVID -19 updates, wee Doogie the flag waver thought he would jump in, chuck a wee sneaky and give that Sturgeon wummin what for under the guise of talking about the pandemic on the goggle box.
But, it was not to be, Doogie’s coupon was glowing red like a well skelpt erse, as the interviewer, who I think might’ve been Graham Stewart, refreshingly (Perhaps the BBC are channelling CNN at the moment) kept shutting him down.
He was asked a question about Covid testing, and started gibbering on about Nicola Sturgeon spending the whole weekend plotting independence, which was shut down, then, when asked the question again, decided to have another go at trying to accuse the First Minister of being obsessed with self-government over public health (which he clearly and undoubtedly is) before firmly being put in his place again by his interviewer about the occasion not being the forum for such political haymaking.
It was at this point the true measure of the man appeared, very publicly. He took the huff! Face like thunder, slightly trembling, bottom lip tripping him, like a wean being telt it’s time for bed before the end of “Transformers 15, the Really Really Big Robots” is finished on the telly.
He went into a full blown proper frost,broken only by a wee snidey snippy response to another question from the interviewer, responding along the lines of ‘I’ll be monitoring the BBC from now on to check that if Nicola Sturgeon is allowed to play wae her Chinese ropes then so am I’. What a big spite-filled bairn he is when he disnae get his own way.
Is this where it’s come tae with 21st century politicians? What happened to spines and backbones, statesman/womanhood and gravitas? Or even just credibility? Years ago you might look at a Tory MP and think, I absolutely abhor the policies you believe in but I can see you are an intelligent, serious, force to be reckoned with, and I respect you for that, but this guy,and his like, the Bowie’s, the Car sales guy, Murdo Fraser et al, are just unfit for purpose amateur chancers placed in positions way beyond their ken.
As an individual known to have fallen over in front of thousands in a fitbaw stadium, when a gently passed passive fitbaw made absolutely no accidental apologetic contact with his feet as he ran the line, I would say that his footballing faux pas now only ranks as the second most embarrassing thing he’s done in public.
Remember folks, independence is normal. Being governed by another country, from another country, with the likes of this chinless sycophant in power is not.
As previously noted in this blog, (upon the day of the most glaring example of his sycophancy, when this individual decided to play straight man in the House of Commons to the clownish mop-topped walloper who is purported to run the Westminster government, by throwing him easy lead-in questions to allow him to insult and ridicule, yet again, the democratically chosen majority representatives of the voters of Scotland, and by associations those voters too) there is smug and there is Andrew Bowie.
In fact the Collins English Dictionary should have his name listed next to the description “having excessive pride in oneself to the point of inducing the vomit reflex in those observing his actions, N.B. in Scotland please search under the word ‘boak’, example: ‘He wid gie ye the boak’.“
Yes the MP for West Aberdeenshire and Kincardine (what were those folk smoking?) did not exactly portray a very convincing, or even convinced figure as he subjected us all to his St Andrews’s Day message of fawning unionism.
Speaking to camera in front of a red, white and blue fleg the size of Luxembourg, in fact he must have been standing on one end of it, his nervous body language and the speed in which he spoke, suggested that as soon as he had finished speaking he planned to turn and run away as fast as his wee legs could carry him.
The clip I viewed has that look, kind of reminiscent, if you’ve read the history of the bunch of jokers who signed our country away a few centuries ago, of the day our nobles, (bribed, offered titles or debts forgiven) had to run for it several times through the wynds and back streets, as the unhappy Edinburgh folk gave chase, before eventually they managed to regroup long enough to sign a nation away and clamber into horse drawn coaches for an escape to the south.
Like most British nationalists or Proud-scot-buts young Mr Bowie is very fond of the word ‘proud’, it trips from their tongue like a sentence starter. He claims that “Scotland is the greatest country in the world-made even more so by being part of the greatest Union.”
Clearly the fella has become somewhat influenced by the exceptionalism and arrogant nature of his masters to the south. The people of Scotland do not want to be the best country in the world, all we want to be is the same as any other sovereign country in the world. We are no better than anyone else but we certainly are not inferior, (as Mr Bowie and his colleagues would infer, to anyone who would listen, any other day bar yesterday on the calendar, in their ‘too poor, too wee, too dependent’ mantra) to any other country either.
Unlike his mob, unable to get over the fact that from about the 1950’s they’ve lost every measure-the-membrum-virile competition they’ve entered, apart from sending a task force to the South Atlantic, and just about every country in the world which they previously had influence in, robbed or pillaged, has chased them out, scunnered by the very sight of them, Scotland does not wish to dominate anyone, we want to be trading partners, friends, allies and equals to our European partners, some of whom we’ve had trading bonds and connections with for way longer than we’ve had with England.
We want to explore opportunities to bond with our Scandinavian neighbours, to work together for the common good on new technology for clean green energy, and further afield we want to join the family of nations, not isolate ourselves chained to a sick misanthropic dysfunctional regime, living in the past and determined to spend the GDP of a small country on re-arming themselves and building a large navy again so they can pretend they have a bigger influence in the world than they actually do. That is not for us Andrew.
He is clearly delusional if he truly thinks Scotland is the greatest country in the world.
I'm proud to be Scottish and British. On this St Andrew's Day, let us celebrate our heritage, our history and our diversity by saying no to division. Scotland is the greatest country in the world- made even more so by being part its greatest union. United in our diversity. 🏴🇬🇧 pic.twitter.com/5fDzujTL2u
Does he also think the greatest country in the world should continue to be governed by another country, from another country?
Does he really think that the greatest country in the world would require the permission of that other country to determine its own future?
Does he think that the greatest country in the world should have to beg the country he really serves for access to their own revenue?
Does he really think that when the First Minister of the greatest country in the world announces that front line health workers, risking their lives on daily basis during the pandemic, should receive a token cash sum to recognise their valour, their commitment to providing care to the gravely ill, and their self-sacrifice, she then should have to request the Prime Minister in London’s permission to disregard the tax element to these cash sums?
Does he really think that it’s right that this request is then shamefully refused?
Apparently a native of Arbroath, I would say, listening to Bowie’s waffle, it is clear that an opportunity has been missed at some time in his youth. If ever there was a coupon that could have been benefitted from, (in the style of the old Monty Python Fish slapping song), a skelp roon the melt with a pair of slightly aged Smokies, it’s his.
itisintruthnotforglory 
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