Whit a riddy

There’s something heavily ironic about Murdo (never elected in his own right) Fraser’s ‘insightful’ comment on social media the other day, following the SNP and the Greens cementing their agreement to work together in the Scottish Parliament. (The Scottish Parliament of course having been created to run in such a manner that it is virtually impossible for a single party to form a productive government without the co-operation of at least one of the other parties in the chamber, thus encouraging cross-party working).

According to the bold yin (known for his penchant to dog whistle up on demand British nationalist discarded Ex-Mastermind contestants, like the mob which decided to take over George Square for a communal urine, cheap wine and not-so-square go fest with each other a few months ago, and their brothers-in-hate of 19 September 2014) the resulting co-operating arrangement means, for Scotland, that it ‘ looks like we just got the Government we didn’t vote for’.

Wow! Really? Scotland having a government it didn’t vote for? How could this be? Surely not? The people of Scotland would never put up with it. Decisions being made on their behalf by politicians they haven’t democratically voted for?  Naw, never…… couldn’t happen……..Oh mind you …wait….

Would that not then include every single Conservative government there has been since the early 1950s? Would it not include them, and wouldn’t it also include the time when that same right of centre party latter-day mini empire fantasists went into a dodgy coalition with the Liberal Democrats, and the you-scratch-my-back I’ll-polish-your-sash deal with the DUP?

C’mon now Murdo. There’s trolling, and then there’s trolling yourself. As an individual who has never once been successful in being the democratically selected candidate in any kind of election, (since the Boys Brigade ousted you from the role of drum polisher) relying on all occasions on the list process to obtain, and then retain a seat in the Holyrood Chamber, If I was you I’d be keeping quiet about all of that normal and just means of selecting individuals and political parties to form governments called democracy. As dear old departed Gran, much loved and missed, would say (from an original quote oft attributed perhaps wrongly to Lincoln) “ It’s better to keep your gub shut and appear as if there is a want aboot ye, than open it and remove all doot”.

Just think of it eh. If Scotland had never previously been subject to  that ”looks like we just got the Government we didn’t vote for” we’d never have had the poll tax or the decimation of much of the heavy industry and manufacturing sector of the 1980’s. There might still be some miners at work, in  a more healthier, safer environment than before, and involved in re-training for a transition to a new greener Scotland, with wind and tide technology leading the way. We might still have had a significantly sized shipbuilding industry. Thousands of desperate souls flung on the scrapheap of poverty, unemployment, homelessness and addiction might still be alive and living happy, loving, productive lives. We might already be an independent nation, enjoying the benefits as a country of the creation of our wealth, making the decisions ourselves about how best to use our resources, assets, and the financial returns and borrowing power created by our labours, for the benefit of all of our citizens. We might even still be in a free-trading partnership for Scotland’s goods and services with the largest trading bloc in the world.

Shut up Murdo. You are embarrassing yourself.

Gonnae make your mind up?

So there they were, the two heid-bummer oil molecules of the North Sea. Distinguished, known for their sleekitness, stealth, ruthlessness and cunning, seen as tide-wise (it takes a certain type of oil molecule to rise to the top of the billions upon billions of others) discussing the news that they had just received a message from up above, up on the surface.

‘The Don. He’s being interviewed again. It’s on the BBC as usual, what should we do?’ said the slightly subservient second oil molecule, who saw himself as a kind of consigliere to the first.

‘Was he wearing his sweater over his shoulders? That’s usually a coded sign that we should be making ourselves scarce, going on the lam, and hiding out until he lets us know we can come back out again, you know, like in 2014?’ said the  boss of the oil molecule family.

‘I’m not sure’ said the under-boss ‘but if he is, his timing is all wrong. I’m fit to burst here, my vast reserves are backing up, I can’t hold it much longer, I’m touching seabed!’

Unsure of how to handle this news, and requiring clarification, the worried boss ordered a starfish to the surface to see if it could obtain a triangulated signal off Glenn Campbell’s forehead to catch a glimpse of the broadcasted repeat after repeat of the Don, known in the undersea world as “The Wood Man” and sometimes “The Knight’, giving out his coded message across the propaganda airwaves.

The atmosphere was tense as the two senior oil molecules waited for the weak signal to come through, the image in front of them fuzzily began to clear, there was the face of an elderly, well-dressed man in a shirt and tie… The sound quality was poor, the signal being from so far away on the surface, but they could just make out the words ‘It would be absolutely crazy to stop drilling for new oil’. At that the signal broke down, but came through again briefly, just long enough for them to hear further words from their Don, ‘Not only that, we’d have a massive balance of payments issue as well’. 

The senior of the two mafioso oil molecules turned to his very relieved underboss with a wry smile. ‘Saps will be saps. Break out the reserves, get the word out to the untapped fields and the exploration areas. The Don has changed his mind again. He’s renewed his deal with the Johnson crew, the Brexit Alley mob. We’re going to continue to gush for Britain for many years to come’.

# Independence is normal. Being governed by another country is not.

Increasingly bizarre

They really are kicking the erse out of it noo. Just when you thought the political decision-making of the cumulative clown shoe circus act that is the British government under Boris Johnson couldn’t possibly get any more bizarre it reaches yet another low level of trolling and bonkerage.

In the spirit of reward for blind obedience to his masters from another country (akin to Wee Ruthie’s recent ascendancy to a reserved seat in the First Class dining carriage of the gravy train) the former hero of the union in its northern province, the erstwhile Viceroy of Joy and Secretary of State Against Scotland, the Fluffmeister himself (I’ve missed him) Davey Mundell, is to be appointed as trade envoy to the marvellous country of New Zealand.

What the admirable Jacinda Ardern and the good folks of the North and South Islands have done to deserve the company of Davey I don’t know, but it must have been something bad.

Wee Davey of course, during his time in the limelight, (which was rudely taken away from him just as he was measuring himself up for an ergonomic chair which doubled as a lounger for the new office her thought he was getting in the shiny new red, white and blue hub that was built in Edinburgh at great public expense, dumped in favour of a nondescript personality-free landowner who could offer better opportunities for London Tories to come north of a weekend to jolly up on the Bolly and canapes and blowing the living daylight out of the local wildlife than Davey) is no stranger tae travel.

Those with only the shortest of memories may remember the heady days of Davey’s Alan Whicker-like wanderings around the globe. Whenever there was a dodgy question which required answering or, as Scotland’s representative of the London circus, he was required to comment on the actions of a fellow Tory, or there was an introduction of yet another odious policy, or there was a speech he wanted to make without fear of being asked a difficult question, quick as a flash Davey was on a flight to Myanmar or Venezuela.

Many’s the local rubber tree planter, cocoa producer and rice plantation owner, thinking they were in the local  township municipality building conference room for the free booze and lobster tails, were bewildered, during Davey’s reign of mediocrity, to hear a speech by a red-faced, sweaty, quiet spoken Scotsmen telling them that “nobody wants another referendum”, for the benefit of the BBC stringer reporter in the room ready to tap out a headline for the next day’s papers.

Exactly what Davey has to offer in terms of developing trade links with New Zealand (shall we swap sheep perhaps) I have no idea, but in his mind, and the mind of his masters he has earned it, so that’s important, to him, not us. The well-established path of the British nationalist system of reward, enrichment and patronage in exchange for services rendered for the small minority of elite continues to be trodden, and reinforced year after year.

Then we have the other bit of news on the British government trade envoy front. On a day when a number of such appointments were made, in a time when the British Government has chased away the biggest and best trading partnership it ever had, and is ever likely to have, (unless Atlantis surfaces and Neptune expresses a particular fondness for marmite and bangers and mash) a high profile appointment was made to the position of trade envoy to Australia.

An important role you would think, yes, requiring a well-qualified individual, an expert in negotiating trade deals, a former captain of industry perhaps or an ex- ambassador schooled in diplomacy, a comfortable communicator capable of forming positive working relationships with sensible people, thinkers, strategists, et al.  So who do they pick for such a crucial position? Sir Ian ‘Beefy ‘Botham of course. Ex-cricketer, stalwart Scunthorpe Utd reserve footballer, and an individual known to have an ego the size of a small planet. Another fairly recent unelected member of the House of Lards (sic), Brexiteering Beefy is clearly the man for the job, heaven help us!!

This line of illogical appointing of numpties to key roles must surely mean that we are not too far away from the likes of ‘The Baroness Mone’ being deployed on a trade mission to Rio De Janeiro, or Matt Hancock being dragged off the back benches to wipe his fake tears and launch a drive to sell British-made condoms to the Amazonian tribes.

Scotland, away from this chaotic farce, could do oh so much better, as an independent country.

GERS does what it is designed to do

I’m fed up hearing about GERS, and I’m fed up writing about GERS. 

It seems to come round quicker every year, like a Tim Burton-inspired Christmas where the tree burns down and ghoulish skellingtons (sic) steal yer new Xbox and puke in yer fireplace stocking. The pace at which this annual reminder of all things bah-humbug to the perfectly ordinary, and what should be non-controversial, aspiration of normal self-government and sovereignty comes round is alarming. It makes me feel I’m getting older too quickly, highlighting to me the urgency of the need to see this damn journey to independence completed before I’m gone.

The Private Frazer’s of the media are out in force. We’re doomed, doooomed I tell ye! Scotland would collapse in on itself and drop into a huge sinkhole never to be seen or heard of again if we even have a sniff of governing ourselves. Not again!

Surely to goodness even the very many of us who pay only the minimum amount of attention to politics or domestic news of the day on a regular basis, preferring to fill their time with, you know, life, must be starting to spot a Groundhog Day pattern emerging? 

Surely they are becoming familiar, and comparing, (from the rotational grim financial report of public spending, followed by the equally as grim serious-faced nodding heads of the Fraser of Allander Institute, and umpteen representatives of the branched locally London Tories and their lite versions of the pseudo- socialists and Liberals in Scotland, howling like banshees, that Scotland would be a third world country without the loving embrace of the bountiful all-consuming Britannic numen) with their real lives, and wondering is Scotland really such a basket case?

Keeping it very simple, everything, and I mean everything that feasibly could be said about this annual British nationalist propaganda skelp-a-thon of the idea that the people who live in Scotland cannot possibly look after their own cumulative financial wellbeing, has been said or written before, from whatever angle you want to look at it.

However the stretchiest of stretchy stretchable stretches of stretchiland would need to be deployed to start to meaningfully compare GERS, the cumulative financial income, public spending outgoings and maintenance of commitments made by the limited powers Scottish Government, and the UK Government, on ‘Scotland’s behalf’, (on the priorities they think should be prioritised in Scotland on their own behalf, where 72% of the revenue raised in or by Scotland remains reserved and controlled by Westminster, and 40% of the spending of Scotland’s money, the monies spent “on Scotland’s behalf’ remains under London control) with how an independent Scotland would manage its own finances. It’s like comparing apples with Edinburgh Rock.

Indeed logic would dictate surely, then, that if the dire straits that Scotland has gotten into financially are to be given credence, according to the banshees of union, a state we’ve gotten into under their control, why the hell aren’t we independent already, to escape from the clear extravagance, incompetence and financial mis-management of another country that has gotten us into this position in the first place?

The publishing of GERS on an annual basis is just a regular excuse to spout British nationalist propaganda, straight out of the playbook. It’s all about how far they can get away with convincing the public that Scotland is poor (it is not). Apart from a few years earlier in this newish century where the figures didn’t support the myth GERS works exactly the way it was designed to work when it was created by Tory Secretary of State for Scotland Ian Lang. 

Undermining confidence in self-determination is what It is for. Falsely promoting the idea that the prospect of an independent Scotland would be irrational and destructive is its aim. 

The taking of soup

Ah, the good old British elitist gravy train, or in this case soup train, continues to do its thing, performing its prime functions, to secure, reward and further enrich a small number of already wealthy individuals, and maintain,and continuously reinforce, long-established channels for draining the wealth created by the resources, assets and efforts of the many into the offshore coffers of the few.

The soup dragon herself, Baroness Davidson of Lundin Links is the perfect example of how this system of service and reward works. She is an individual who has spent the last decade, and more, doing very little else other than pushing the establishment line with her every public utterance, promoting Rule Britannia in exchange for personal gain and influence.

As a politician she was at best mediocre. As an orator in parliament she was as incisive as a blunt pair of scissors, dredged oot the Clyde, and rusty since the Garden Festival, trying to cut through reinforced steel. 

She seemed to spend much of her time displaying, for the parliamentary cameras, various indignant and petulant facial expressions, ranging in variety between an impression of a well-skelped-erse and a bulldog chewing a wasp, especially on the too-numerous-to-count occasions when the First Minister of Scotland verbally handed her her posterior on a plate during many sessions of questions and debates.

The ermine-clad Baroness has nae depth, ye see. She’s got plenty of front (a dulux skirting brush couldnae paint a red neck on her) but no substance. 

She’s won nothing, she was never likely to win anything, she led her branch of the London Tories nowhere, and in the very clearest sense of that fine Scottish word, she’s a ‘blaw’, or as my much mentioned, dearly departed and missed grandmother used to describe individuals of an inflated sense of self-worthiness, ego and gas, ‘a bummer of Hell!’.

But, her value to the British state has been clear. She’s been the smiling, sometimes snarling, face of the British state and all its nationalist traits in Scotland. 

The state broadcasters dream, she’s been on speed-dial for just about any given moment of any day when an SNPBad comment, Scotland in general bad comment, or positive reinforcement of a forced policy from her paymasters to the south is needed, for years. 

As long as any media questioner doesn’t ask her a difficult question (and let’s be honest she has always been a protected species when it comes to the unionist-biased media in Scotland) which they never did, or do, she can, on occasion, when concentrating really really hard, sound half-way plausible.

However, all of this ‘Tories can be ordinary people like me’ malarky that Davidson has tried to portray, as she harrumphed her way around photoshoots dressed like Colonel Getaffme sitting on the back of a bullock precariously balanced on one hoof on the lid of a Challenger Tank, really was transparent, a joke.

Transparent too were her recent attempts to play down the fact that she has just joined the biggest club of rip off bloated self-serving chancers, (an exclusive bunch, able to rip the tax payer off to the tune of 323 quid a day each in exchange for some subsided lunch, a quiet nap and a play with the social media, or a look at the cricket score, on their phones) in the country, were shambolic.

Now she is basking in the establishment perks. The latest of course involving a non -executive seat on the board of the well-known firm of Scottish soup manufacturers who bunged the No Campaign a wedge during the run up to the 2014 referendum, a firm which is always keen to host whichever self-serving muppet is in charge in Downing Street at the time, on their occasional helicopter fly-in and outs to Scotland.

As a relatively young woman, unless we get the finger out on this Independence campaign soon, she might even end up as the Secretary of State for Scotland at some point, entirely un-elected, democracy having had nothing to do with her appointment, chosen solely on patronage, service to another country and reward. Just keep slurping down the Royal Game soup Ruth.

How depressing. Is this really how you want our country’s governance to continue to work?  Not me.

Independence is normal. Being governed by another country is not.

Tangible progress now

I’m hoping someday to be able to say that Nicola Sturgeon, the First Minister of Scotland, as a leader, assisted in advancing the civic awakening of the people of Scotland, after the initial 2014 Referendum on the future governance of the country, to the extent where not only did a second referendum take place, but it resulted in a decisive victory, providing a baseline from which to launch Scotland as a renewed sovereign state into the family of world nations.

Personally I am as frustrated as most other supporters of an independent Scotland as the lack of progress towards our goal over the last few years. The mandates are in place, we’ve been marched up hills and down them again, we’ve had promise after promise, launches of all sorts of campaign preparatory organisations which then disappear again, hints at rebuttal units being organised to make mincemeat of the British nationalist propaganda that washes over us 24/7, and create clear, easily understandable open channels for our fellow Scots not-yet-convinced to be able to access factual information about our country’s assets, resources and potential, which never happen, there’s no sign of a road map to independence,  a schedule for change, or really anything of any great note to get the heart pumping fast like during the heady days of late summer 2014.

I get the Covid-19 thing, I really do. In a time of a life or death pandemic, first and foremost a government doing its utmost to protect my loved ones, a job which is so huge that it would be impossible to do it perfectly, is what I’d expect them to do. I think for anyone to say that the current First Minister of Scotland has not done her very best, in good faith, with the emerging advice and information she has had over the time of the pandemic, would, in my opinion be wrong. 

On a purely human level, in favourable comparison to what is considered a leader in another nearby country to the south, her concern for her fellow Scots is clear.

However, pandemic or not, work could easily have been going on in the background over an extended period to create a strategy, a roadmap to, and through, the second and decisive canvassing of our people’s view on its future. 

It’s encouraging to see Mike Russell is now involved but we need tangible progress. We’re in the run up again to conference season, and as usual there are early promises, leaked to the media, of voting on a motion on draft referendum legislation at the earliest possible time after the pandemic is at a ‘clear end’ etc etc etc etc….We’ve heard it all before. It’s Groundhog Day. We, the independence movement, need to see demonstrable progress towards our goal, now.

I like the idea of the Greens, and the fledgling Alba, which I genuinely hope grows into a progressive additional champion of the independence cause, (we can never have too many of them) being around to keep the SNP on track. Parties with Green policies thrive elsewhere and have been involved at the highest levels of government in several European countries for many years (just not in the staid and musty two-party post-imperial Westminster system). With the world threatening to burn and then flood itself into submission why wouldn’t you want Green policies included in your government?

What I don’t believe, at all, is all of this tin foil hat stuff. My goodness if the SNP were half as influential and capable of the cloak and dagger manipulation and abuse of power that they are accused of we’d be independent already. Equally SNP and Alba folk sniping at one another, both ways, moves us forwards to independence not one step, in fact it holds us back. The lads and lassies at Cheltenham GCHQ, or wherever it is the British State social media shyte-stirrers are based must be laughing up their sleeves. We’re doing their trolling for them.

One thing though we can all agree on, Scotland is best served being governed by the people who live there. What that government, and subsequent governments look like we’ll work on when we get there, but that goal must not get lost. We should not lose sight of that goal.

Not a joking matter

As UK Prime Minister does Boris Johnson have a media spin team? Does he have a bunch of PR gurus running around in his entourage advising him of issues to discuss, to emphasise, to downplay, in any given situation, and importantly topics to avoid at all costs, or to dodge if questioned? If he does, they are either entirely mince at their jobs or in his arrogance he’s no’ got the sense tae listen to them.

As a member of the movement for an independent Scotland I am always happy to see him skulking around our country, on his occasional visits, trying to avoid coming into contact with the vast majority of the people who live there, who don’t vote Tory. 

His perpetually failing attempts to appear as a hail-fellow-well-met good egg and his put-on persona as a bumbling eejit are great adverts for independence.  I’m sure that every time he makes one of these trips, and opens his mouth to let the wind out, the numbers of Scots pledging to vote Yes in the upcoming referendum increases.

However, yesterday, on his latest trip north, he really went too far. He kicked the arse right out of it.

My first thoughts on reading his comments to reporters, when discussing the extraction of fossil fuels and the transition towards green energy sources, that “Thanks to Margaret Thatcher, who closed so many coal mines across the country, we had a big early start and we’re now moving rapidly away from coal altogether,” followed by a laugh and an added throwaway line “I thought that would get you going.” were, did he really say that? What a heartless crass reptile this creature is.

My next thought was anger, anger because we, the people of Scotland, let this man and his like trample all over us. We don’t vote for them, we don’t support their policies, but we let these bunch of self-serving chancers and their predecessors make all of the major decisions about our country’s future.

We believe in giving everyone a fair deal, we want to be an outgoing progressive trading nation, in the main we believe that anyone who pays us the respect of wanting to come and live in our country deserves to be one of us, and we want our children and grandchildren to have options and opportunities to have great lives without having to move away from their home, ensured by the fact that the people who live in Scotland, with Scotland’s priorities always at the centre, govern Scotland.

Allowing Unionism and the British State to continue to rule us is clearly counter-intuitive to all of these beliefs and aspirations. Why do we continue to let this happen? 

Why do we let this man stand there and joke and make light of the terrible increase in poverty, economic and social depression, breakups of families, rises in addictions, the heartbreak, the violence, the mental and physical health issues and homelessness, and the sense of desperation which came about as a result of Thatcher wiping out the mining industry and, by extension, de-industrialising Scotland? 

Why does the fact that he has made such comments not result in him instantly having to be hurried back into his portable fridge inside his helicopter and chased off back to his grace and favour country home in Buckinghamshire?

Do something First Minister. Start the ball rolling, announce some key target dates to take us forward to a referendum. By all means put a Covid-19 caveat in place, but do something, make it clear that a section 30 request is just going to be a nice letter informing them that we will be having a referendum whether he agrees to one or not, but do something to take us forward.

Postscript…

Oh, aye, I forgot to mention the guy who runs the political party which goes under the guise of calling itself ‘Labour’, the guy  that’ has a ‘Sir’ before his name, he was in Scotland too this week. 

What a red neck. A guy who has nothing to do with Scotland, knows very little about us, but feels like he needs to tell us what we should be thinking. Aye right.

The spirit of an honourable man from a bygone generation who shares the name Keir with this individual must surely be spinning in his grave at the thought of what has become of a once proud and noble movement for the progressive betterment of ordinary people. The sham husk of that transformed neo-liberal project is dead in Scotland. 

The skulker

Incapable of facing the democratically elected leader of the currently limited powers Scottish Government in fear of possibly keechin his 44 large, wide fit M&S half-masted breeks, the circus clown purported to be in charge of the UK government slunk over the border yesterday for a two day visit.

He sashayed, like a lounge lizard too fond ae the honey roast peanuts, intae Kincardine, tae the polis college at Tulliallan, (presumably to share witty anecdotes with the cadets about his time as Mayor of London when he spent a small fortune on water cannons from the German polis, in order to control any riots which might occur as a consequence of the withering venal policies of the government he then supported, and now leads, and then how the City of London had to subsequently sell off the unused riot control vehicles as scrap at a huge loss once he’d moved on to create new and more widespread carnage for the rest of the UK). Oh how they must have laughed.

The state broadcaster propaganda division, as expected, gave the numpty the full run of the Pacific Quay Britannic centre of empire and media, a full easy-peasy softball questions interview, sound bites, cheeky grin, stern leader hard on drugs, unwilling to agree that treating people with addictions as human beings (which works very well elsewhere) rather than criminals, is a good idea, furrowed brow, strong commitment to battling climate change (you could visibly see his big splayed oot hooter growing at that one), the full gambit. Enough to splice into dozens of brainwashing propaganda clips for future use. Job done. More BBC executive kudos saved up for some future recognition in the honours system.

Later in the day I came across a photo on social media of the numptie alongside posed Power Ranger Andrew Bowie, the MP for West Aberdeenshire & Kincardine (not the same Kincardine the mop topped bawheid visited earlier, a different Kincardine, I bet that confused him). 

Bowie of course is known for his obvious parliamentary talent in one particular field, smugness. If ever there was a fizzer that represented a typical self-entitled Tory he’s wearing it. Bringing my dear auld grandmother into the mix, if ye put Bowie, Priti Patel and auld Kate in the same room the gither, rising up to her full five foot two, God rest her, she’d relish the task of finding two smirking pusses she’d never get fed up skelping, like naughty weans.

Presumably Boris Johnson was in the area after gazing at the turbines in a windfarm, pretending he gives a shyte about the environment, and wondering if the revolving blades would be good for cutting the heads off his expensive cigars.

Skulking around a country which you keep telling everyone who will listen is a country you are the Prime Minister of is not a good look. If Johnson had any backbone at all he’d come out of his fridge and meet real people, real Scots. It really is a wretched situation that we allow ourselves to be governed by these people.

We must put an end to that.

Dear Nicola

Dear Nicola

Thank you for your letter this week regarding my impending visit to your regional area of our glorious country. 

Although I’m always pleased to hear from you, and others like you, involved in the administration of our various geographical areas, I’d like to take this opportunity in my response to set out my position clearly. Clarity as you are probably aware being one of my key strengths as a leader.

Firstly, I won’t be meeting with you. You are not a political leader of an equivalence to my level. Using a cricketing analogy, I am the captain of the England first eleven at Lords, and you are a fielder at silly mid-off for a scratch village pub side.  

I am the Prime Minister of our glorious, revitalised, independent Great Britain, re-launching ourselves as a leading player on the world stage, you are a glorified mayor of a provincial area we mainly use for hunting and fishing, storing weapons of mass destruction and redirecting income from natural resources. I deal in G8 summits, you deal in baby boxes.

I’m aware that you, and your inflated band of parish councillors, laughingly described as a government, (we thought we were stretching it a bit by originally describing you as an ‘Executive’) have been in regular contact with my Chancellor to the Duchy of Lancaster during all of this Covid-19 business. 

Although I understand the need for the regions to contact the centre of government during such a crisis, frankly I find the need for a Minister of his level’s involvement to be a waste of his valuable time. He could, and should, be out and about in the international business community and the corporate sector seeking ways to maximise party donations for favours, his real job, rather than liaising with the likes of you, at your level. 

If we let this interaction continue we are in danger of every Tom, Dick and Henrietta in local government from Abingdon to Yeovil pestering us for favours, things like equity, parity and co-operation.

It must stop. Therefore I’d be grateful if you could leave the subject of future liaison between yourselves, up there where you are, and us, your bona-fide government, with me to consider, and ruminate until we all forget about it. 

Incidentally I am currently of the view that it is also not appropriate for our hunting, fishing and arranger of weekend jolly-ups on his country estate Minister, Alister Jack, to be involved either in any liaison with your government as this would involve us having to expend much effort and money to raise his profile to the extent that the average Scot actually recognises that he is supposed to be our government’s representative in their region, in effect the real leader of the place, outranking yourself of course.

Putting it simply, we just don’t want to talk to you. You never have anything nice to say to us. It’s just not cricket old girl. Your face does not fit.

To finish I’d like to make it absolutely crystal clear to you that in no way am I avoiding you. It would be entirely incorrect of you to think I am intimidated by others who have a far greater understanding and knowledge of vital national issues than I do, individuals who make themselves aware of detail to an extent that frankly I am not prepared to submit myself to, due to my highly inflated sense of self-greatness, limited intellectual capacity and inability to retain information, other than on occasion , at parties, being able to recite in alphabetical order, the names of my offspring. I like a good joke though.

Be assured I am not un-nerved by your presence, or by the rousing warm welcome I would surely have received once again if I had managed to find time, during my visit this week to Scotland, to meet with you in Edinburgh. Entering a building by the front door and then leaving again by the back door allows one so much more time to study the internal architecture of buildings such as Bute House. I think last time I even discovered the room where you keep the fridges, a particular interest of mine.

I look forward to my visit to Scotland, mixing as equals with a heavily vetted hand-picked cross section group of ordinary everyday Tory voters, behind a security cordon, pressing some flesh, insulting some Covid-19-exhausted health professionals by patronising them, perhaps munching a tea cake or two, some luxury haggis, or sampling a ‘wee dram’ with my good friend and colleague Murray Ross, before a short trip to whichever branch of the armed services Tory HQ want me to be photographed with this time to emphasise how important it is that we defend our great nation by keeping our nuclear weapons in yours. 

You’ll catch it all on your TV and radio media bulletins, of that I can assure you.

Yours

Boris

#Borisisafeartie

A protected species

Looking at the behaviour and facial expressions of the bumbling bawheid of Bullingdon and his attack dog Home Secretary the other day at a ceremony to unveil a memorial to members of the police killed in service, displaying much hilarity over his inability to manage the workings of an umbrella, it is clear that to this bunch of chancers governing a union of nations is just a joke.

To them there are no situations which require solemnity, gravitas or sincerity. They are a disgrace.

There is something quite sinister and creepy about that smirk that spreads across Priti Patel’s fizzer on a regular basis, it sends a shiver up my spine when I see it. It denotes a clear a sense of entitlement, an arrogance. She’d sell her granny if it gave her a further leg up the political ladder.

Viewing the clip of Johnson playing up to his persona of Bojo the Clown with his faulty umbrella, sitting next to the next hereditary monarch, and the shared looks between him and Patel, it was like watching two wee naughty school weans getting caught flicking wet paper bullets at the class swot. 

Observers may note a certain unconscious intimacy there in their body language between them.

Heaven forbid, I’m not suggesting that she is another notch on a long list of  five bar gates scraped into the ice of the fridge he hides in, no, that’s an image I’d rather not see in my mind. No, the intimacy they share is the knowledge that they each feel supremely powerful, above the law, chancers, and above all of that they share a sense of euphoria that their gross incompetence doesn’t matter, as much as it is exposed, they are a protected species, their destinies intertwined in each other’s decisions, each reliant on the other.

Under the watch of these dangerous wastrel numpties, and their cronies, many have died needlessly, many others are living in abject poverty and misery, and yet more will suffer. This is unforgiveable.

For us, in Scotland, we can take a different path. It is in our hands. Put by our internal differences. Set aside our differing views on how our Scotland will be. Let the political leaders of the movement to return our country to its rightful state of independence publish some key dates for the forthcoming campaign, with a covid-19 caveat. 

Give us, the grassroots, a target to aim for. Do this and we will not be found wanting.