Not in my name

Without labouring a point too much (see previous article of 19 July ‘Fooling no one’) viewing a clip of the London Tories poster girl of the last ten years in Scotland, Ruth Davidson, cloaked in the parts of several dead stoats, strolling up to the bench in the House of Lords to sign on, yes to sign on to become a real drain on the tax payer, an actual burden on society, content to receive handouts of public money for doing nothing meaningful in return, and all the perks that go with it, really does turn my stomach.

It also acts as an additional spur, if one were needed, which it’s not, to renew my personal determination to do what I can, with you, dear readers, and the many, many others, to ensure that our country returns to its rightful state of sovereign independence.

We can, and will, do so much better, as a medium sized, progressive European nation, with our governments, in  the service of our people, driven by a first and principle aim, to look after all of our citizens, all of them, to the very best of their ability, constantly striving to develop, establish and improve excellence in all public services, putting the needs of the folk, and democracy, at all levels, always to the front of all decision-making.

We’ll have none of this gravy-train system of rewards for services rendered nonsense that exists under the Westminster system, the nudge nudge-wink wink, you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours, that has served over the rise and fall of an empire to create and nurture a small elite base, holding all the power, continually regenerated by unelected hereditary privilege and patronage, allowing new entrants like Baroness Ruth of Lundin Links to join their number. 

We, the many, have had it drummed into us over the years that this entirely undemocratic system, in terms of the governance and the proper guardianship of power, is normal. In the 21st century it certainly isn’t.

Independence surely must come, the journey has only one end, independent we shall be.  

Look at the ascending of the likes of Davidson, (who, when you examine the facts really has not achieved anything positive or remotely useful or beneficial to the people of Scotland in her career as a politician, bar be a greetin-faced headline grabber on behalf of her beloved Union) to the lofty heights of the regular more- than-comfortable tax-payer -funded wedge in the hip pocket, and associated perks  for life, to the House of Lords. Dreadful. Rewarded for loyalty alone.

We surely can do oh so much better as an independent country than continuing to allow ourselves to be suppressed by England, and their agents amongst us, for their own purposes, not ours. 

🎥 @RuthDavidsonPC has been officially sworn in to the House of Lords

The former Scottish Conservative leader takes on the title of Baroness Davidson of Lundin Links pic.twitter.com/qVzzIhSz36

— Alan Smith (@Political_AlanS) July 20, 2021

The downfall of Nero (part 113,000)

Live from the heated indoor swimming pool bar in the Orangery at Chequers, the Prime Minister….

“Good afternoon my adoring public. I’d like now to update you on my current thoughts as I release you all from the burden of viral servitude. 

It’s a damned nuisance you know, such a frightful bore.I’ve jolly well passed my tolerance and concentration sell-by-dates on this extended pandemic kerfuffle. To be entirely honest I’ve lost interest. 

As a Prime Minister with impeccable rectitude there things I should be doing, for the country. 

For example I should be playing celebrity sets of tennis with the wives of Russian Oligarchs in exchange for contributions to party funds, or schmoozing around a billionaire’s private Island not far off Capri with Carrie, (young Winston… Kelvin… Piers…. Wilf…being looked after by nanny) whilst we adults keep out of the direct sunlight until it’s cocktail hour, or are waiting for a lavish reception paid for by a Saudi prince looking for a weapons deal to start. 

After all we can’t go on like this forever, can we? Let us be free. It’s time for our natural bulldog spirit to come to the fore. 

In settling myself down in isolation, in an unimpeachable demonstration of personal sacrifice, (mainly on a fine priceless 18th century chair, with Churchill’s biography of the Duke of Marlborough, and a fine brandy in my hand) in the library at Chequers, I’m reminded of the tactical victory of Dunkirk. 

I too have been forced to retreat from battle, only to re-emerge, victorious, as I shall, a tray of tea-cups and plate of Hobnobs in my hands to salve the beasts of the savage paparazzi, sometime next week, when the coast is clear, and everyone has gone back into lockdown again.

Yes, I can assure you all, I am eager to get out of here, truly I am, my country needs me.  In fact I’m super-turbo-charged in my determination to serve my country well.  

My people need my strong clear unambiguous leadership. I am their champion, they crave my attention, hang on my every word. Carpe Diem. Let life return to what it was, although I can’t anything about the empty shelves in Tesco. It wasn’t me, it wasn’t my government who caused this. It was those blasted French and Germans. 

I have an alternative solution though. I’ll launch a Dig For Victory scheme, just like the good old days. We’ll be drowning in cabbages, that’ll bring the country right behind me.

Why does old Dominic hate me so? We used to have such fine evenings together over the Noughts and Crosses pad, in Downing Street, sharing late night opposite ends of a Subway Meatball Marina like the main characters of Lady and the Tramp. 

He has twisted the blade into my flesh. I tell you with a clear conscience and astonishing memory, and my well known punctiliousness, that not once did I ever suggest that I was resisting introducing lockdown because I thought it was only over 80 year old’s that were dying. Truly I never said that, I might have said other equally as repulsive things but don’t recall ever saying that.  

Likewise I never said that I wanted the virus to wash through the country rather than destroy the economy, apart from in a couple of early TV soundbites, and I definitely did not try to incapacitate the Queen. I expected that because I wouldn’t be wearing a mask to visit her, seeing as I was still patting backs and shaking hands with all and sundry at the time, that she would be wearing one for both of us”.

Scotland has a way out of this. Let’s take it.

Fooling no one

They always say that don’t they?

They do the bidding of their masters to the south, following instructions from the mother ship to the letter, utilising every possible strategy and trick in the political book to protect the status quo of unionism. Then, when the thirty pieces of silver get handed over to them, in the form of a stonking great regular income provided by the tax payer for sitting on a bench in the Lords, managing to stay awake for the most part, dressing up in a silly robe now and again and giving themselves a title, they always say the same thing just as they are about to enter the troughing chamber, “I’m here to do important work. I’m going to reform the place into a modern fit-for-purpose democratic chamber.” Aye, right!

They’ve all said it, wee George Robertson, Jack McConnell, Alistair Darling, even Michael Forsyth, and many many more, as they morphed into Baron Robertson of Port Ellen, Baron McConnell of Glenscorradale, Baron Darling of Roulanish. Baron Forsyth of Drumlean & Thatchererselick.

Now it’s Ruth Davidson’s turn. At just 42 her efforts, exaggerated by an accommodating and adoring media as they were, to hold back the tide of inevitable self-government over the last few years, have landed her a right cushy retirement, no doubt along with a few honorary company directorships. Yes folks, 300 pounds plus a day for just turning up and as much foie gras as she can eat (if the French don’t stop sending it across the channel post-Brexit). What a great gig, she’s won a watch.

It’s very much a worn-out phrase the faux reformers use, and everybody knows that she, like those other professional politicians before her entering that chamber, has no intention whatsoever in making any attempt to change anything about the House of Lords. 

No, there is not a chance that Baroness Davidson of Waitrose British leek and chive links will take even one step towards curtailing any of the benefits that she is about to receive until her dotage. In her mind she’s earned it, she’s worked for it, she’s planned towards it, so why would she want to change it?

She’s quoted in the Hootsmon as saying that she was astonished that Boris Johnson signed off on her ascendancy to the political equivalent of a lottery win. Even to the last she consistently tries to portray a false image of being a rebel, outspoken and unafraid to speak truth to power, when in actual fact she is none of these. 

Tory HQ’s long term strategy to try and make their Scottish branch palatable to an electorate who haven’t voted for them in any numbers since the 1950’s by depicting them as Tory lite, not really Tories, middle-of-the-roaders, even to the extent on occasion of deliberately leaving the name of their party off election material so as to try and befuddle the electorate pulls the wool over nobody’s eyes in Scotland, apart from those, of course, who are wedded to, and immersed in, their Unionism.

She’s always got to mention the fact, in as much as she can in any article about her, that like most of us she went to a comprehensive local authority run High School. She’s just an ordinary Josephine Bloggs, just like the rest of us (whilst she spends as much time as possible trying to be the exact opposite of the image she portrays and projects in public). She’s fooling nobody. Off you trot Ruth, yet another drain on the public purse.

Independence is normal, being governed by another country is not. Part of that government from another country being made up of unelected individuals in place through patronage and, as a reward for services to the government of the day, is as weird as it is undemocratic. 

Forty-faced

He blaws wae the wind, he blaws in the wind, he is full of wind, the Prime Minister of the failing state of Brexitannia.

Mad keen to jump on any bandwagon, or find a moving crowd to run in front of, shouting “follow me”, over the last few weeks he’s slagged off young laddies playing a sport for their country for doing nothing more than demonstrating their commitment to positive societal change, fairness and justice. He’s backed up the soulless, conscience –free bully ( I think he’s feart fae her) who would deport her granny if it helped her move yet another rung up the ladder, in her condemnation of these footballers.

Then, when it looked like the team playing that sport werenae too bad at beating teams in the easy half of a draw which saw most of the good teams  in the other half knock each other out of the event, he went right over the top with the Downing Street bunting, the daft dress up of an England shirt under, and over, his ill-fitting suit, and several staged photos of him looking at a telly with the fitbaw on trying to make it look like he has the first clue about what it was he was looking at, hinting at a  snap public holiday, should they, God forbid win the tournament. Would that be a ‘wildcat” public holiday Prime Minister?

Further, being a man, who, from his time as a journalist, can very easily be found to have made countless tasteless, vile racist comments, we hear him then getting all vexed and self-righteous about the horrendous racial abuse received by three you England players, the youngest being 19, by so-called fans following the defeat in the final. Abuse that his less-than-convincing laissez faire attitude towards social issues and separating right from wrong generates as a dog whistle to half-witted Neanderthals dressed in replica football shirts, (that and the overt comments of his previously mentioned attack dog Home Secretary, another one keen to suddenly flip- flop onto the side of condemning racism, this week anyway).

Like the recent exit stage right of Matt Bawsack, who was receiving full Prime Ministerial “nothing to see here, let’s move on” support, until he resigned, and then Johnson was swearing blind he’s sacked him, we are in a similar situation this week when a reception at 10 Downing Street, which was presumably arranged to celebrate the victorious English European Championship win, was cancelled, citing that affairs of state were keeping the shaggy-heidit numpy busy, too busy to share a sausage roll and an egg sandwich with a group of fitbaw players who reached the final of a major sporting event.

In reality, to their eternal credit, the players of the England squad, a team, and their impressive manager, disgusted at the way some of their number have been treated since Sunday, (hurt one, hurt all) because of the colour of their skin, and knowing what they know about Boris Johnson, and his government, refused to attend such an event, with such people.

Marcus Rashford, Jadon Sancho and young Bukayo Saka, any chance of a Scottish granny lads? You are welcome in Scotland. You can come in and sit with us at our fireside anytime.

‘Are country’(sic)

Dear friends if you wish to see what nationalism looks like close up, in glorious technicolour and in as almost as raw a form as you can find, hopefully without it descending into becoming base and bellicose, switch your telly and radio on to a 24 hours a day cycle of the British state broadcaster’s channels between now and Sunday night. 

Also for the next few days subject yourself (eyelids pinned back like the Manchurian Candidate) to the Mail, Express, Telegraph, Sun, Hootsmon, Herald and the Mirror (whose front page headline yesterday had them already lined up in the final versus Italy before they had even played Denmark).

You think it has been bad so far? We haven’t seen anything yet.

As a Scotsman, like many I will be more than a wee bit scunnered if our auld enemy win the final. But I will be genuinely happy for my friends and family who come from down south who support their country’s footballing fortunes. I can be happy for them. 

Also, I bear no animosity at all towards the talented young lads and their manager who represent England at football. In fact the likes of Marcus Rashford, clearly a man with much more about him than being able to kick a baw, is much to be admired. 

It’s not their fault that the John Bull empire resurfaces like a phoenix out of the ashes every time they qualify for a tournament, usually to be pilloried as “turnips” or otherwise when they don’t live up to the exceptionalism that their flag waving media demand.

Scotland must be one of the few first world countries whose media is provided mainly by another country, and whose own limited media see themselves fundamentally through the eyes of that other country, not their own.

Independence……. and our own media?  Can’t come quick enough. Bella Ciao!

The gambler

You can just see it now, can’t you? The blundering conscience-free bawheid in charge of the British government of the day in London, letting the population of England completely off the Covid-19 (and it variant’s) hook in mid-July, whilst cases are still increasing.

Many of these will go raging tonto around the place, haunting places like Bournemouth, Torquay and Blackpool like ants on the corpse of a deid rabbit, leaving not a square inch of sand free on the beaches of worn-twice-surf-shorted erses, yahooing it up and rampaging in crowds at sporting events and festivals, and forcing themselves intae overcrowded pubs, infecting each other like they were on a 18-25 fortnight’s trip to Magaluf. 

Building up herd immunity, reckons Johnson, again, after he made virtually the same lethal mistake the last time, will sort the problem. No it won’t, people will die, unnecessarily. No other country anywhere is as brazenly blasé and dangerously incompetent as this bunch of clown shoes continue to demonstrate day after day.

The papers, the telly, the radio, the politicians, the fake dramatic historians wae the wavy long hair, (who reckon The Clearances were about a lot of fed-up highlanders looking for a change of scenery and a tan) they’re all at it, trying to stir up the keech, and are winding the propaganda up further on a daily basis.

England is doing away with masks, shouldn’t Scotland? Shouldn’t we all come out together in a “Four nations approach”?  Isn’t it terrible Scotland still will have restrictions when the English are free to do as they please? 

We can’t be far away again from the BBC et al scouring the border area for crude anomalies, where one side of the Burn can do X and the other can only do Y. It’ll come. We’ll also have members of the rent-a-crowd who make up the ‘random’ audience of Question Time in Scotland (their faces are becoming so familiar now) popping up in equally as “random” on the street interviews to tell us all how bad it is that the Scottish government is curtailing our human rights.

Then there will be at least one reported dispute, as fakely set-up as the recent stout heroic heart of oak Navy encounter with the Russian armed forces, where loud English visitors to Scotland will claim they were hounded by the local populace for not wearing masks, in our ‘own country’. Yes, that will come. Every day, in every possible way, the propaganda will be chipping away at Scotland’s approach to protecting the health of its citizens. 

The variants of this dreaded virus are mutating all the time. People’s lives don’t matter to these dangerous individuals. Casualties are of no concern to them.  All they are interested in is personal self-interest, retaining power and imposing that power on others.

Scotland must disentangle itself from this constitutional nightmare. The dangers of not doing so are clear to see.

The blind spot of real nationalism

I don’t think we needed spurned spin doctor Dominic Cummings to tell us that Boris Johnson and his government of spivs, wide boys and comic singers detest the very idea of devolution.

No, Cummings latest drip feed revelation only adds another confirming nail in the coffin of a constitutionally stale and corrupt arrangement which makes the reek from an old discarded previously EU-protected delicacy Arbroath Smokie smell like fresh ground coffee beans and recently baked bread.

Part of the problem is that those in power, and to be honest, their supporters, those of a mindset of seeing Britain as first and foremost England, with no differentiation, do not recognise the need for devolution or, heaven forbid, self-government. 

This is because they don’t recognise us. As far as they are concerned those advocating the protection, and extension, of devolution and its natural progression to independence live in insignificant peripheries of their Britain, their England. 

To them we should consider ourselves English, and be grateful, or we should be proud to be associated with being geographically nearly English. They can’t figure out why we would want to be anything else. They also think that there are a mythical 4 million or so Scots who think the same as they do. 

They don’t understand us. They don’t recognise or respect our democracy because as they see it the impact of the wishes of the people of Scotland, divergent to their own, are diluted within the wider England/ Britain. We mean nothing, we are nothing. We are but a small chunk of their whole. What’s ours is theirs and that is all there is to it. 

We were assimilated, our identity a myth expunged in the romanticized works of Walter Scott or the soft core nonsense of Outlander. We’re just a funny accent, to be badly imitated in TV shows and movies.

You just have to look at the way our democratically elected representatives are treated on any given day in the Commons chamber, or the way they, or any other advocates of an independent Scotland, are treated by the heavily unionist-weighted media in their reporting, or whilst being interviewed, to see that there is no respect given to anyone in public life not wanting to be British and proud. 

These attitudes will not change. In fact as the political journey along separate roads widens, and  the worrying creep of right-wing dogma becoming palatable in the south continues, it is an imperative that the basic structures for an exit policy for Scotland begin to be built now. 

Again, and I’ve said this before, a caveat can be added which covers delays for unexpected COVID -19 consequences, but a provisional timetable with dates of proposed key events as a route out of this dysfunctional constitutional mess must be produced soon.

Sleekit

Ye’ know it’s mair about the way that they do it, rather than about what they do, that irks. Me, I’ve personally nae problem wae the wee wummin who lives amongst unimaginable wealth and privilege at the end of the Mall in London.

On  a human level the wee sowel is a guid age, 95, has very recently lost her man, her family are a worry, and she surely, in all her long years of relationships with leaders of her government, cannae have seen a much bigger dunderheided numpty than Boris Johnson.

Naw, I’ve nae problem wae her, other than I don’t believe in the bizarre institution of hereditary monarchy, and the unimaginable wealth and privilege aspect to it, but that isnae her fault.

No, my problem is the way that the media arm of the establishment which requires this outdated archaic hierarchy to continue,to ensure that they remain in clover themselves, thinks the rest of us are just mug punters, easily taken in with any auld nonsense they want to spout at us.

There’s been a lot of talk this week (because guess what,most people spotted it) about a strange new phenomenon we’re all supposed to know about, and have ingrained in our minds as a long-standing tradition. 

Ye know like we think that the weather’s getting a wee bit better, so it must be nearly time for the Grand National, we’re heading intae summer and it’s raining on a Saturday, must be Cup Final day at Hampden, the weather man says it’s tooterin it doon fae the heavens in the south-east of England, so Wimbledon cannae be far away, that kinda thing.

Yes, I’m talking about something “known in Scotland as Holyrood Week or Royal Week”. Known by whom? I’ve never heard of it. Have you? The National Newspaper even phoned Buckingham Palace switchboard to ask about it, and they’d never heard of it either.

It appears,according to state propaganda, that it’s been a tradition for years, and as the BBC news site keeps repeating to the point of boak -inducing brainwashing,“Holyrood Week usually takes place each summer as the Queen and members of her family undertake visits across Scotland, celebrating Scottish community, innovation and history.” So there ye go, now we know.

That clears it up. The sudden appearance of a tradition that everybody in Scotland knows about and cherishes, even though we don’t actually know that we know about it, or even that we cherish it.

Clearly, if you believe the hype this traditional royal working week is nothing to do with trying to bedazzle the peasants as part of the rubber-puppet-satirists dream, Michael Gove’s, ramped up playing of the royal card to try to somehow dilute support for independence. 

Nor is it about using a week of one of the Royal’s annual jollies to Balmoral and Holyrood Palace, (where they get to dress up in kilts, brogues and funny hats, and swagger around carrying expensive walking sticks so that they blend in to look just like the rest of us) as a political weapon. 

Nor could you construe these time honoured traditional ‘Holyrood Week” demonstrations of affection for their northern subjects to be connected in any way to the fact that in Covid-free times the Royal entourage have got to fit in the odd garden party, factory visit or appearance at a Highland Games anyway between the pertying, whisky snorting and blowing the wildlife of our countryside to bits,to at least make it look, at least on the surface, like they are not just here for the free venison and teacakes.

No, we must doff our grimy caps, and take all that the loving arms of the BBC and the right-wing media tell us at face value. 

I must admit seeing Elizabeth the First and her grandson, the heir to the heir of the throne, visiting a Baa Bru factory the other day really rocked my faith in a future where the people of Scotland get to make their own decisions about their governance. I nearly chucked it .Aye right!

Button up the back we don’t. Independence is normal. Being governed by another country is not.