Just had a swatch at the leaders debate of last evening, which seems to have been filmed by somebody’s granda, who just found the camcorder he got for Christmas in 1996, that he forgot he had, doon the back ae the spare bedroom wardrobe. Paying a licence fee fur that? Nutt.
On this showing the shouty wee yappy dog that is Murray Douglas, Tory branch secretary, northern province, a man as annoying as Jim double yoked Murphy, (different party, similar politics) is no’ long for that job.
Has he got policies palatable to an electorate? Naw.
Has he got policies at all? Naw.
Has he got charisma, personality and authenticity, would you believe a word that he says,( if he said ye were offside, ye’d be looking for a corner)? Naw.
Can he mibbees haud a tune, beyond Land of Groping Tories? I widnae have thought so.
All he seems to have is no, no, face like he’s just sooked a soor pickled onion, no to any independence referendum during the period whilst his leaders are still making shyte decisions about health that get innocent people seriously unwell or worse, or even afterwards, for at least a hundred of our earth years.
I read the other day that he has three jobs. I couldnae for the life of me work out what the third one was, unless it’s as a Vulcan extra in Star Trek. He’s got the look.
The Boris Johnson frilly knicker Pom Pom & smug sycophancy dream team, Andrew Bowie et al, can indulge in mob-handed co-ordinated Twittery saying how great he is (a wee tip, try changing some of the words round so that you don’t all post the exact same tweet) as much as they like, but sometimes wee Murray Ross has tae come outside into the light, like last night, and we see him for what he actually is, not what they want him to be.
It kind of makes you wonder who Rugless Toss, or Ross Moray or Ross Douglas, or whatever the media or his Prime Minister is calling him this week, will go to for masked-up photo ops during this election.
Surely, after the incompetence, broken promises and betrayals of Brexit there can’t be a farmer or fisherman anywhere closer than Calais who wouldn’t want to take a wilting cabbage or a wet stale haddock, and stroke the local representative of the entity that has devised, inadvertently by incompetence or deliberately, their decline and demise, soundly round the puss with it? Surely.
It’ll be the poor souls in the army, navy or RAF then, the human side of which faces yet more cuts to ensure that the level of incineration possible by adding yet more nuclear warheads to an arsenal which already is capable of obliterating life to the level of small five-eyed cockroaches, can incinerate the incinerated again.
Yes, like his predecessor, the Challenger tank obsessive, he’ll be up there, front and centre, ably supported by the media, who, in a country which roughly has a population of which around 50% support independence, managed to find an audience of questioners for a leaders debate almost entirely against such a bold mature and responsible prospect.
Maybe he’ll get a wee segment on the State broadcaster prime time news, him, keen Premier League linesman, VAR with the batteries removed, that he is, doing an assault course with some squaddies.
Picture his sullen coupon disappearing into a water filled tunnel, only to emerge oot the other end of the tunnel looking even more sullen, but somehow exuding leadership qualities, (I’m taking the dry boak) or as keen observers would notice, slippery when wet.
This of course would be followed by the bold Rugless, but rugged, towel around neck, ignoring a question about plans to cut personnel, but spouting forth about the need for strong security, about how Scotland benefits from being saved from the Russians, Chinese and the People’s Liberation army of Nauru by being sheltered by the “broad shoulders’ of the UK, and no, there’s no reason for folk in the Central Belt of Scotland to panic because the whole of Britain’s nuclear stockpile is thirty miles from Glesgca, and, diverting attention from an awkward moment, and pointing skywards, “oh look, a Russian spy plane!’
We can but hope that social distancing, in this case one of the very few upsides of the Covid-19 pandemic, may save us from such images.
I’m not falling for it. He’s clearly a philanderer with a penchant for younger women, an ego the size of a small planet, and not an iota of self-awareness when it comes to not recognising that society has moved on from the 1970’s in the way in which women should be treated by men.
He strides about like nothing has happened, in his arrogance he doesn’t get it, in his ill-fitting suit, sweaty, leaning on a podium, hoping for one last shot at glory. Rebuilding an empire. In politics, like most everything else, honesty is vital, integrity is key, trust, once lost, if it was ever there, is hard to regain.
Yes, the horrors of being the architect, through poor decision-making and dangerous incompetence, of the deaths, many of them entirely unnecessary, of more than 110,000 innocent souls, and the now-gathering-speed destruction of the economy of the UK via the inward-looking separatism of Brexit, destroying many people’s lives and futures, don’t seem to have really dawned on Boris Johnson, a man who publicly survives by telling jokes, spewing platitudes and mumbling half-remembered Latin quotations.
In a media goldfish bowl, where if the First Minister of Scotland made it into work one day wearing a black shoe on one foot and a dark blue shoe on the other there’s a fair chance she’d be forced to explain why in front of a lunchtime TV audience, he consistently just gets away with anything he does, and always gets an easy ride from a pliable media. In fact many are confused as to whether the political editor of the BBC actually doubles as his press secretary, so intertwined they seem to have been for so long. What happened to telling truth to power?
The latest revelations about his long-term dalliance behind his spouse’s back, the awarding of contracts, and the possible conflicts of interest which may have existed as a result, not the first time we’ve seen his dishonesty demonstrated, are just being ignored by the British State broadcaster, with their no, no nothing to see here, move on, where’s that sweeping brush, and the edge of a very large carpet approach.
Disgraceful. He’s safe as houses. His media audience love him, him, his new Irn Bru flavoured press room, and his flags, his orgy of union flags. It makes you wonder just how outrageous he and his right-wing inward facing nationalist cabal of the self–entitled, toffs and bullies would be allowed to get before somebody somewhere with a journalism degree at the BBC takes any notice.
I don’t want Scotland anywhere near any of that jingoistic little empire nonsense. It’s time to do something about it. Vote SNP one and two on 6th May.
Who could have predicted it? Apart from just about everybody. If it works fair enough. If it doesn’t it’s in danger of becoming a fairly ignominious conclusion to a political career akin to a punch drunk heavyweight unable to make the decision to chuck it and go off and invent a handy kitchen utensil.
I have admired his work in the past, I’ve defended him in most things over several years. He’s always been a polarising figure for some, who either love him or hate him, but Alex Salmond is not my cup of tea.
I don’t have particularly strong views about him, other than to say (and I know it’s difficult these days to find anyone in politics whose integrity is worth greatly admiring, for me Jacinda Ardern in New Zealand might possibly be one of the few exceptions) that in my view, after his behaviour and judgement has so much been under the public microscope over the last few years, I think he should have done the right thing, the honourable thing, and quietly stepped aside.
Once all of the botched up incompetence of the Scottish government’s enquiry, then the court case, with its intrigue, drama and the unfair salaciousness of the slavering media pack who had him hung, drawn and quartered before the jury had even had their first cup of tea and a biscuit was over, and the BBC outrageously trying to retry him by TV after he was cleared, he should have went off into the sunset of his media job and left it at that.
The man was not convicted of any criminal behaviour. He broke no laws. For many that is enough. For others it never will be.
Some in the SNP are not covering themselves in glory either, firing off verbal howitzer rounds at outgoing colleagues who have jumped on to the new platform which Alba, or Al-a –ba, or even Alab-a is.
What happened to the going high when others go low? Where’s the dignity of office, of being conscious of the high standards of behaviour demanded by an electorate who have placed their trust in you? There’s a lot of childishness on display.
I’ve written, and lamented, several times over the last couple of years or so about the undoubted loss to the independence movement that a split between the current First Minister of Scotland and the former First Minister of Scotland. constitutes.
Two fine minds, focussed together on our journey to self-government, were a formidable force indeed.
It is what it is, the playing field has changed shape and there is a different dynamic to various strands of the movement to return Scotland to its rightful state of independence beginning to firm up.
In early May the sacred mysteries of the D’Hondt electoral system, as predictable as what day summer will break out in Burntisland this year, and perhaps, or not, open to much gaming, as long as you have a crystal ball for the constituency seats, will churn up the ballot papers, give them a bit of a rinse, and spill out a whole new Holyrood chamber full of representatives of the people.
Let’s hope for the sake of the cause we, on all sides of the independence–supporting movement, wholeheartedly wish to see, that the bickering and sniping comes to an end, and refreshingly we, of both old and new, and non-party alignment, get back to focussing on our real opponents, and the immeasurable damage they are doing to their own country, and to ours.
Then we may have a better chance of, one way or the other, achieving a substantial independence majority in Holyrood for what might then hopefully be the final devolved status government of Scotland before full independence.
James Matthews looked like he was about tae chuck up his lunchtime sushi, or fart an approximation of the chorus of “Jerusalem”.
Sarah Smith, unable tae come up with a catchy one line Britney Spears “Oops I did it again” damning erroneous headline, (that she could apologise for later on her Twitter feed that none of the people she is reporting to on the telly follow, like she always does) was mainly dumbstruck, but raging.
Glenn Campbell wanted to question the First Minister of Scotland for another 8 hours (she even apologised to him on live TV that the result hadn’t been different because she could see he was disappointed).
Then there was the entire might of the Scottish Tories, who the media have been love bombing 24/7 across the channels, like an advert for over 50’s funeral insurance, for the last two weeks or so. They were suddenly unable to provide a representative to provide comments. There they were, gone. Gone like north-sea oil before a referendum.
Where was the waste of a good flag, or as a BBC news anchor called him the other day, twice, Douglas Murray, Scotland’s answer tae VAR with the batteries removed? Where was put-the-boot-in Ruth? Some days ye cannae get them off the telly. On Monday they couldnae be found.
On Tuesday they were left looking like somebody had half-inched their last Rollo as their pathetic, and now superseded, vote of confidence was skelped right out the window, and was last seen floating down the Forth past Port Seton. Run for the ermine cloak Ruth, run, and don’t turn back.
That’s what happens when propaganda and expectations are not in synch with reality.
Then there’s the opposition members of the enquiry committee. There’s a lot of ducking, diving and involuntary speed-blinking going on amongst that lot, (Andy Wightman excused).
Who was it? Who leaked like the old Hampden main stand press box? C’mon now, own up, free your soul.
My money’s on the spiv with the foul mouth tae women during Zoom meetings, who no doubt is working quietly in the background to oust his boss, the nonentity wrapped up in a nest of mediocrity which is wee Wullie Rennie.
We might never know. We could try asking Margaret Mitchell (CON MSP for the District of Bletherin Skite) but she’s still in the middle of asking the chair Nicola Sturgeon was sitting on during the hearing a question in four parts.
Never a dull moment, watching unionists squirm. Anyway, onwards and upwards to May 6th, SNP One and Two.
Drawing a line, and moving on, taking no joy in the aftermath of a feud which has split a movement, only relief that it may be coming to an end, once the dust settles, and the now starkly discredited machinations of the unionist parties at Holyrood in both their memberships of an enquiry, and their votes of no confidence, are over.
The Union is in its final years. The 2014 Referendum loosened the lid on the very tightly closed jar of a quasi- equal partnership that really never was a partnership.
The 6 and a half years since then has month on month, year on year incrementally seen more of our fellow Scots come to the conclusion that our country is best served by being governed not from London, but from our own parliament in Edinburgh.
Overwhelmingly the under 50’s amongst us, not greatly intertwined in the cultural indoctrination of a post-imperial past, have confidence in Scotland’s ability to move forward as a progressive independent European country. No cringe, no sense of too wee, too poor, what currency, how much will a stamp cost etc, none of that peripheral noise. It doesn’t concern them. Every other country can do it, so why not us?
Many of us older than 50, long term advocates for an independent Scotland, are increasingly being joined by more and more of our peers, sick of the revolving door two cheeks neo-liberalism and greed of the Westminster system, the lack of progress on tackling the real issues which blight society, endless broken promises, the regression and clawback of the massive immediate post-WW2 social progress, the democratic deficit, and the political and cultural divergence between our country and our neighbour to the south. All things must pass, and the Union has had its day.
It is time for us all to make it happen. It is time to hold our nerve, defy the haters and doubters, ignore the massive onslaught of Unionist propaganda, heal, and work together.
Continuing to generate division amongst ourselves is such a waste of talent, abilities and energy. There will be plenty of time for debate and strong opinions, (insult, or belittling is never required) once we achieve the goal we all share. At least then we’ll be expending energies for the common theme of the betterment of our people, our society, our country, which our chosen representatives will have inherited through our combined hard work getting there.
Division, also, as always, does nothing but advantage our opponents. It would be naïve to think otherwise.
Making it happen starts with doing what we can to encourage a good turnout of voters on May 6th and a majority, a convincing majority, of Independence-supporting Members of the Scottish Parliament voted in to serve in the next parliament.
Like most I’ve studied the various theories on the sacred mysteries of the D’Hondt electoral process, and whether it is possible to game the system. I’m still not sure, but have formed the view that unless you have an accurate knowledge of how the constituency votes are going to turn out it is very difficult to then target list seats appropriately. Therefore I would advocate voting SNP one and two. (However various other products are available).
It is ironic to use the word “together’ bearing in mind the connotations of that particular word in Scotland in the months leading up to 18 September 2014, but together, really our independence movement is almost unstoppable.
With the draft legislation for a referendum on independence now published, and a bill set to be passed in the Scottish Parliament should the party of the current Scottish Government become the party of the next Scottish Government, the future, once the blight of the pandemic is under some form of control, gives rise to much optimism that we are back on the journey which will result in Scotland’s rightful return to sovereign self-government.
It seems Bastille Day clearly came early to certain parts of Scotland this week end.
It was nice too to see those of a traditionally British leaning hanging up the flag of their union in support of “Liberte, Egalite, and Fraternite”. Och well, that’ll be the Cooncil Tax going up tae pay for the paint removal, “Vive La France”, Mon the Auld Alliance.
Talking of a darling of the red, white and blue, I’m sure Ruth Davidson has some fine traits in life away from politics, as a mother and partner, but my goodness when it comes to her work at Holyrood she can fairly scrape the bottom of a very deep barrel of nastiness and false spin on behalf of her masters in our neighbouring country to the south.
She has no conscience when it comes to politics, and, again, referring to paint, a neck that would repel the colour red instinctively.
Using a slash and burn approach she is determined to do as much damage as she possibly can to the credibility of the Holyrood chamber before she climbs on board the most prized gravy train of the lot, the red benches of the House of Lords.
Media saturation coverage doesn’t quite cover it, she’s the darling of the quote and sound bite. It’s pitchforks and burning torches week down at the Beeb and Sky, and she’s front and centre. Surely she can only now be but a short leap away from accusing Nicolas Sturgeon of trying to strangle her pet bulldog, Winston, and causing the volcano in Iceland to erupt.
It definitely is not beyond Boris Johnson, once Ruth becomes Lady Muck of Soormilkpuss, to cast aside the nonentity placeholder Alister Jack, Secretary of State Against Scotland, and replace him with the former Challenger tank obsessive Ruthster.
Then we really would be living in gazing through the looking glass territory, where effectively, within a union context, an unelected Ruth Davidson would have more power over Scottish affairs on retained power issues than the First Minister of Scotland. Can you imagine that?
Meanwhile back in the real world, above the whining of the media, snidey-ness from unionist politicians with vested interests, and on social medial those howling in ever decreasing echo chambers, we’ll wait this week for the outcome of the independent enquiry into whether the First Minister of Scotland breached the ministerial code, which has been carried out by James Hamilton QC.
I’m pretty sure that if his report exonerates Nicola Sturgeon that it will get the same level of coverage a leaked report from a committee, where unionist members had already made their mind up about the outcome before hearing evidence, has received over the last three or four days. Maybe not.
#Independence is normal. Being governed by another country is not. SNP One and Two on 6th May.
Isn’t it refreshing to see that the campaign for continuous improvement in the provision of efficient government services to the people is at last paying off, now that the long established committee processes of the various central and devolved parliaments of the UK are to be streamlined.
These will be refocused to direct members to speedier conclusions and outcomes, thus spending less of vital taxpayers money on frivolity, monies which can then be re-allocated appropriately to such vital projects as increasing the danger to the people of the Central Belt of Scotland and beyond by increasing the capacity of weapons of mass murder to incinerate them and then incinerate the incinerated shards again by about 40%, or to building what looks like a chamber to promote the health improving qualities of Irn Bru in Downing Street for a couple and a half million pounds.
Yes, it’s all happening. Now that we’ve had the test case, which according to every major media outlet in the known Britannic propaganda world (it even made the chief headline on the online UK page of the BBC News, not just the cringey too wee, too whatever etc… Scottish News page) has worked very well (pitchforks and lit torches to the fore alt -natters and unionists).
Every enquiry, committee and commission into any sort of alleged tomfoolery in government, which does not involve either of the two bum cheeks of the established political order, who are exempted, will commence only once the outcome has been reached, and then work their way backwards.
This will make it much easier to co-ordinate administration, and do away with the need for committee members to leak the result prematurely to Fleet Street or Pacific Quay hacks for their own political purposes, and avoid them breaching parliamentary codes themselves.
This issue has been seen as the only fly in the ointment in the recent Witch Hu….test case, where the committee members were damning someone else for apparently doing what they, he, she, or it (in the case of the whale song noises coming from Margaret Mitchell CON MSP Under-da-sea) are effectively doing themselves.
Further, the process from these damning results of committee investigations backwards will in general take little more than a full day to rewind back to the opening statements from witnesses, because there won’t be any. What’s the point of questioning witnesses when you’ve already made up your mind of the guilt of the person sitting in the witch dooking stool before they, or the witnesses have opened their mouths?
The Holyrood Elections beckon. We’re a strange bunch us Scots. Whenever we look like we’re going to be good at something, or achieve something momentous, we’ve got to put a stop to it, and we do our damnedest to make sure we do.
However there’s time yet to buck that longstanding trend, and get the campaign for an independent Scotland back on track.
Aye, there’s no smoke without fire. The evidence is piling up, there can be no doubt. All the strands of this sorry tale are starting to connect.
There’s at least two crowdfunding periods left in it, so no doubt it’ll stretch oot and a grow a bit for a while yet, but it’s all lining up perfectly.
We have it on good authority, from the unnamed brother-in-law of the niece of Nicola Sturgeon’s pal Lisa from primary school who emigrated tae New Zealand but then came back because she didnae like volcanic lava’s, dentist, known simply as Mr X, who happened to overhear a hushed conversation in his waiting room between two women in trench coats, fake moustaches and Inspector Clouseau bunnets, both strangely carrying the exact same make and colour of briefcases, that corroborates the whole thing.
Their evidence is revealing. She is indeed a scoundrel. A blighter and a fem-cad.
Apparently she’s a double agent and has been hatching a plot, many years in the making, to set herself up as the semi-autonomous dictator of our country under the watchful eye of her handlers in Whitehall.
Did you ever wonder why, in the run up to the 2014 Referendum debate, that the then First Minister of Scotland, when faced with that great public debating mind (and the savaging verbal skills of an ex-goldfish swirling in a toilet bowl) former, very former, socialist, Baron Von Darling of Roulanish, in the first debate of the ballot box battle, was tongue-tied, less than convincing, and uncomfortable in his speech (for a man who can usually talk comfortably underwater until the next visit of Halley’s Comet)?
I’ll tell you why. She spiked his Highland Spring. Just before the poor man was about to take to the stage Muzzzz Sturgeon, standing by the First Minister’s shoulder, casually leaning over as if to scratch her ankle, recovered a vial, secreted in a false section of one of her shoe heels, of a substance, deadly if taken in dosages of five litres, anally, known only by its initials C.A.L.P.O.L, (sneaked ingeniously out of the Porton Down Research Establishment by agents of MI5, and passed to the flipped ex-internationalist independenista as a sealed filling in a Forfar Bridie served to her in the Holyrood canteen one lunchtime) and slipped the contents into his water bottle. Dastardly eh?
Allegedly too, according to the conversation the endodontist overheard, this ties in neatly with the next sensational ‘whistleblower’ evidence which is just about to be made public. Revelations which will feed the hacks of the red tops, the Not the Scotsman and the Herald England for weeks, and generate a veritable blog-orgy of affirmation and smirkery.
It seems that there is an individual, let’s call him ‘The Driver’ (it’s actually Wee Davie McEwan, who used tae be a bus driver of the X37 tae Buchanan Street, now he’s in a safe house in Stevenage, but don’t tell anybody) who had the current, errant, non-independence-minded, mistress conspirator –in chief First Minister on his bus late one Setterday, when gin had been taken.
The usually straitlaced Ms Sturgeon fu’ ae the drink after a night at the dominos (who is she kiddin? Naebdy spends that much free time reading books) was a wee bit the worse for wear. Her mouth was watered, and feeling somewhat sad about her clear betrayal of the independence movement she gave Davie (oops) ‘The Driver’ the full story.
Over a shared black pudding supper and pickled ingin, she described her being flipped by London, and gave a comprehensive summary of her despicable actions since then to besmirch the name of her predecessor, and collapse the campaign to return Scotland to its rightful state of independence from the inside.
There was a particularly bad set of roadworks just outside Banknock that night, the potholes are shocking, which led to much delay in the bus’s progress, sending the timetable all tae buggery, therefore the mainly one-sided conversation lasted a considerable time, so long in fact that the rain nearly stopped.
Those readers of a rabid nature will be pleased to hear that the BBC, having secreted Wee Davie safely away, on a fee which will pay for two weeks in Alicante once the Covid disappears, will be running exclusives every night between now and the Holyrood Elections, featuring a different startling item of ‘The Driver’s’ recollections of the self-damning double crossing leader’s confession.
….. And if you believe any of the above you’ll believe anything. But it’s as plausible as any of the other wildly spurious nonsense that’s out there at the moment.
Back in the real world unless you’ve a crystal ball to be able to work out what the outcome of the constituency vote will be on 6th May I’d be voting SNP one and two. An independence supporting majority is an imperative, otherwise we, the many advocates of a self-governing Scotland, may well live to regret it.
# Independence is normal. Being governed by another country is not.
There’s polis surrounding, and protecting, a lump of rock on a plinth in London whilst some of their colleagues, at the behest of a real nasty piece of work, demonstrably proven to be a bully, but clearly held unaccountable, drag women away violently from a protest about violence against women.
Meanwhile work continues apace to introduce draconian laws to facilitate a slippery slope to a police state, limiting the personal freedoms of citizens to express their views in public.
The figures are out (and being buried under increasing tonnage of pap about the familial squabbles of the obscenely rich and nominally powerful hereditary totem of the former imperial power, one revelation revealing that as an institution they are racist, who would have thought it?) on the early impacts of Brexit.
The economy has taken a nosedive, as many expected. Scottish food and drink exports to our European neighbours having taken a hammering, our largest food export category, fish and seafood, down by a staggering 83.%, throwing that sector into chaos, and UK exports to the EU overall are down more than 40%. Recession and crash anyone?
Nobody is paying much attention to that, apart from those whose jobs are in peril, because Piers Morgan went in the huff, the sickly sycophant Nicholas Witchell lit the torch and reached for his pitchfork, and the media, who once vowed never to act in the same manner as they did when they hounded the mother of the latest target of their ire, have begun a race for an exclusive on the alleged perpetrator of offence remarks during a regal conversation, once they decide who it is they want to point the finger at.
Then there is the Muppet-like character allegedly in charge of the circus, ebullient, having spent around two and half million pounds of public money on a Downing Street press office makeover. He’s clearly been watching ‘The West Wing’ again. A man plain and simply with his priorities not in the right place.
Does he think standing behind an expensive podium whilst spouting his confusing and bumbling misquoted Latin mumblings and Covid -19 in , out, shake it all about advice is going to make him sound, or appear, any smarter?
An intellectual light-weight, he knows full well that he isn’t up to the job of Prime Minister, that’s why he hides himself away so much. Not known for detail, he wings it on almost every occasion he is called upon to do his job. Every event, every Commons sitting he attends, every photo opportunity, every interview, he just waffles generalised rhetoric, usually with a smirk across his over-privileged puss.
The difference between him and most people is that where you and I would feel entirely uncomfortable just making up what comes out of our mouths from an ill-informed position he revels in it. His arrogance allows him, in his mind, to say what he likes with little consequence.
His rise to his current lofty position, whilst clearly dangerously incompetent to carry out the task of leader, proves without any doubt once and for all that it’s not a Prime Minister and government Cabinet team who run the entity which is the UK, for that look at the deeply entrenched establishment and the influence of the multiple strands of lobbyists and the corporate world.
Do you really want Scotland to be dragged over a cliff by continuing to be shackled to a burnt out husk of a bygone age, silenced by a political circus which ignores and mocks us, an entity living on past glory, turning inward and nationalist (the bad kind)?
No? Vote for an Indy majority in Holyrood on 6 May 2021.
itisintruthnotforglory 
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