Settled Will

It's over then?
For another year of so
Disappointed?
A wee bit.
Is it the wains?
Aye.
Going to be hard enough.
Aye, Gideon's no goin tae splash the bawbees aboot. No much couters candy either.
I would guess a certain amount of sporran squeezing will be the order of the day and the day after.
Do ye think if we had men the size of Maclean, Maxton and Reid we would have lost?
Aye. Where are they when you need them?
Deed!
Still I thought old Gordy did well.
Undeed!
See you the morra!
All's Weal that ends Weal!
Up to a point Lord Cameron, up to a point!

PurdahTory

Soon be over now chaps just a few more hours until the urns shut up shop.
In the meantime we would not want to be leaving you all in Libo, just to Labover the point.
Think of this as a test card like they used to have on the good old Beeb.

and something for you to read.

The Round House  by Louise Edrich and 5742 Days by Anne-Marie Cockburn.

A wise and thoughtful piece on you know what from the Grauniad on the day Andy Murray tweets allegedly for the proposition.
(Enough! I thought we agreed to say nothing if we can't agree...Ed)

Nothing!

Postcards from Purdah 1

As we sit here not quite in the garden of England, enjoying the late sun of an Indian Summer, reading about the Land  Where the Lemons Grow our thoughts turn Citrically to Nato and what would happen if our friends in the north were refused membership of the same on declaring independence. We have heard many views and seen much analysis including the suggestion that Norway and Iceland are unlikely to invade! However, I would be less sanguine about the Jaffas! Blood oranges I suppose.
(I thought you were in Purdah...Ed!)
Greetings from Purdah!

The McTavish Letter

Any resemblance to persons(real or corporate), places or things is entirely,fictitious, fortuitous and as such, is  a failure of the author's poor befuddled brain.
(As a husband, father and deeply religious person I am glad you covered our arses with that one...Ed.)

Dateline London 12 September 2014 15:30 BST
Deep in the bowels of Whitehall a lowly civil servant is scouting for a place for nefary. In a dusty corner of an unused office in a redundant building an envelope sits on an otherwise empty desk. It displays itself, coyly, provocatively, promising distraction to an aching heart and ungirded loins. It is addressed to a certain McTavish in some god forsaken part of the realm, probably as remote and dreek as it is unpronounceable.  The envelope, open and unsealed provides access to the letter within. To the practiced bureaucratic eye it quickly yields its burden. The letter is cover for the return of material strangely not enclosed but which is clearly detailed  and purports  to incriminate certain politicians north of the border in heinous crimes and misdemeanors; treason, spousal abuse, theft, animal husbandry, incest and Scottish Country Dancing are but a few of these horrors. The missive thanks the addressee for provision of this material but states that it would not be, in the national interest for the government to have said material in its possession at this time.

The covering epistle  bears a single letter as a mark of signature. (I take it that is not an X...Ed?)
No we are not talking military intelligence! The address of the sender is a Post Office Box - Whitehall 1212 - not identified further.  

The dutiful civil servant swiftly brings the letter to the attention of the powers that be, thus  shifting the monkey in the box as quickly as possible( but not before making an untraceable copy.) The powers that be, as might be expected, consider that accusations of eating babies, deep fried in batter, require extensive consultation and evidence gathering  before a draft report with proposals for an interim memorandum to the Cabinet Office,  copy of course to the Treasury, could be circulated.

In the fullness of time the news desks of various publications received communications, again from 50 untraceable sources which contained 19 digit numbers of bank accounts which would be in existence in exotic locations for the next 24 minutes. These offices could be used to deposit large sums of boodle and in exchange the originators would provide incontrovertible evidence, evidence of such magnitude, evidence in such depth  that  it would sink any campaign battle bus in a sea of mixed metaphors.

The money goes out, the evidence comes in and 2 countries, like 2 mature adults, consider that for the sake of the children they would be better off together.

I noticed that when I drew the attention of herself to a story on the BBC about a certain Mr Murphy being pelted with eggs recently her only comment was that it's a terrible waste of eggs.  This seemed like a sensible approach or deeply ironic or both.
I believed this to be the case thinking she does not have a pig in the race. However, at a later date she demanded to know of me if she would be entitled to a Scottish passport in the event of a yes vote!

I smell bacon.

Anyways, it might not be a bad idea for this blog  to go into purdah until the 18th so as not to unduly influence our friends in the north. (PAH...Ed!)

A Bawheidet Woman

I was listening to woman's hour the other day... (Phwat in god's holy name is this blog coming to. Supporting gay footballers and flying the, so called, Palestinian Flag next. Ed!)
I thought we might be hearing from you and if you are awake you might like to take a look at the last blog.
To continue... WH, I think it was the 28 July, was having a wee discussion about the independence of our friends in the north.
Nicola Sturgeon was having a heid to heid rammy with some numpty from the NO! I AM NOT SHOUTING campaign ... ( are you sure it is possible to describe a woman as a numpty?  Is it not demeaning, sexist and more importantly likely to get us in the sort of trouble which would seriously effect our cash flow ? Ed)
What cash flow?
To continue.. said numpty challenged Nicola with the obviously well rehearsed interjection...

But Nicola, you are trying to have your shortbread and eat it!

You can supply your own nasal whiny, faux indignant, numpty, Scots accent if you wish.
I had the thought.

That is it, in a tartan tin.

It is their shortbread and they are going to eat it!

A Bawheidet Man Looks at Scotland

A visit to Edinburgh and evidence of a previous claim made on this Blog. Evidence a friend suggested of a second Scottish Enlightenment. Well the words have been there for over 40 years to my knowledge!

And of course, ye ken

Yes up to a point Lord Cameron

Stereotypically naff.

And yes they are what you think they are and that is a hearse being pulled by horses in the background.
Not prophetic in any way I hope.

Ho! Ho!

A Pinch and a Punch for the fist of the Month. I bring you tidings from the Grauniad.

Scotland to switch to driving on the right if independence given green light

And I have in ma hond a piece of paper  that details the plans of the perfidious Nats to invade San Serif in the event of a Yes vote. 

Nothing like trailing your coat around the school playground.

And while we are at it, I stayed up far too late  one night last week watching 13 Days.

So Shreck better get on the phone to Posh Boy and advise him of the intention of an Indie Scotlenad to 'Quarantine' Faslane.
I've gone all weak at the knees. It's the thought of Posh Boy pounding the lectern at the UN with one of his shoes, Gucci of course!
(That is blatant product placement! I edit an ethical blog and in the words of another great man of letters something up  with which I will not put...Ed)

Common Currency

A letter from Dame Nichola Misfearsome, Comptroller General of BP Inc. to the Chair of BP Inc.

Dear Snooks,

I attach a spot of bedtime reading  by the bean counters and moolah wallahs about the attempt by our subsid. in the north, Salmo Enterprises, to up sticks, grab the boodle and go it alone!  You know how the M  Ws drone on if you let them so I suggest a stiff Glenbogle if you are not the least interested. In as much as I understand it (GCSE in woodwork 1959) I
passionately agree with its analysis and conclusions.

I know that our relations with the ungrateful bu**ers oop north have not always been of the best but a commercial relationship between different parts of a company is a bit like a marriage. We are the bread-winners, they do the cooking and the cleaning, and after a Friday night session at the club we come home a bit squiffy and... well. We've been screwing them for years and now they want out. They say they are happy to split liabilities as well as assets! I say go forth and multiply and empty your pockets before you do, thieving oiks!

Toodle pip.

Ever
Nickky xxx

Pandrops

In a school playground in Stockbridge two kids stand square to each other. There is tension. It is not the usual flare of cruelty, anger or a desperate reaction to casual violence. The smaller child, a rotund cherub who looks like he has just finished a long and pleasurable sook on a pan drop, is planted with growing confidence in front of a much bigger boy with greasy hair and florid, rubbery complexion, Macaroon.

Listen Salmo you do what I say or it'll be the worse for you.

Worst!

Worst what do you mean worst.

It's worst not worse!

Whatevs you fat little git.
I am head of school and you've got to do what I say. Don't think the teachers give a monkey's cos they don't. Except Gideon, he really enjoys seeing me kick the crap out of the smallest snot gobblers.

Holding on to his bag, his bladder, the level of his voice and his big idea the smaller boy, Salmo, looked Macaroon straight in the eye.

We don't have to do what youse say if we don't want to. Stockbridge School does not have a head boy. If we had anything we should have a head student and I would vote for Nicola.

Vote, what do you mean vote, we should fight for it. I'd like to see Nicola take me on, in fact I'd like to see Nicola take Rebekah on. Macaroon fell silent at this and a strange look came in his eyes.

Salmo maundered on, sure now he was digging his own grave or worse!

The students should decide, it should be fair, no bullying or bribing people even with pan drops.

Macaroon grabbed him by the ear and twisted, hard. Salmo felt hot tears in his eyes. He looked to see if Nicola was watching. She was. He lashed out with his foot. Macaroon dropped to the ground and moaned. He clutched the part of his short trousers where, it was thought, the largest one in the playground was to be found. He turned white, then green then gave a dry boke. Salmo turned. While the going was good the good got going. He thought what a heap of shite these these big kids were. He knew he would get thumped, Gideon might even use the tawse on him but it would all be worth it. He knew he would get to share those pan drops with Nicola, eventually!

Grangemouth Smokies

Article by Martin Kettle in the Grauniad linking the proposed closure of the Grangemouth plant to the debate about Scottish Independence. A thoughtful piece and while I don't always agree with the Kettle it is clear sighted and I'm afraid paints a rather dark picture for the rest of us (a rare case of the pot being called black by the Kettle ...Ed)

Moves are, undoubtedly, afoot. The Common Weal  has more than the whiff of an Arbroath Smokie.

A linked article by Adam Price contains the suggestion that:-

 One thing we can comfortably predict is that the future will be another country. 

Amen to that, and while the psephologists are having a few days in the country on the back of all the predicting the urns, I'm not sure their field days provide us with any indication of what like those countries will be no matter what we end up calling them.

Doomt, Doomt, I Telt Ye!

Maybe it was the delayed effect of seeing the World's End (not the world's end I hope, of course not, otherwise we would not be here... only my little joke...Ed!) or the curry afterwards but when the daily update concerning the Scot's latest bid for freedom popped into my inbox, courtesy of the much maligned Mr Googles, the lead story was

Scottish independence would lead to a 'complete nightmare' in immigration policy

The Scottish Daily Record reports Michael Moore, The Secretary of State for Scotland, claiming the above. Of course, I see it all. Lines of the undead slumped by the side of the A1 just waiting for the word. WWII surplus army lorries, their tattered tarps flapping in the breeze just north of Carlisle. The signal to move would be the declaration of independence. Closer inspection of the transport would reveal the horror contained within. 

Interesting fact about Scottish Independence, No. 1 in a series.
Have you ever seen
Michael Moore, The Secretary of State for Scotland, and
Michael Moore, The well known prankster and filum maker,
in the same room?

(Now you come to mention it, I have not... Ed)

The Company He Keeps

So then Nige, Keith's Mum says you ran into a little trubba north of the border.
When I used to frequent the hoofs and hoosies of Auld Reekie, the Royal Mile and environs was the haunt of tourists, Nasty Nats and Old Labour. (Did you not, yourself, drink with your trot Chums in the Cowgate...Ed?)
Anyone with a thirst for genteel political debate (or anything else) would repair to Rose St., New Labour, or the New Town Watering holes for the Tartan Tories.
If you had played your cards right I'm sure you could have dropped in on Malaky for a drop of Sancerre, possibly not though.  That's frog juice, is it not?

Arbroath Smokies

It is strange how the fates conspire to bring about ideas in your correspondent's noodle.
I enjoy fish, smoked fish and other marine delicacies. I did so at the weekend to celebrate the birthday of herself. A good time was had by all!

I then started to watch 5 nights with Brenda, the troubled times of a small monarch! All good clean fun and, as an aficionado of the haddock, I marveled at the arrogance of it all, long since forgotten.

I was pulled up short by a reference to the Declaration of Arbroath, again long since forgotten.
Open Democracy had this from an article by Canon Kenyon Wright in the Our Kingdom section.

...Lord President Cooper, arguably the greatest Scots lawyer of the last century stated “the principle of the unlimited sovereignty of parliament is a distinctively English principle, which has no counterpart in Scots constitutional law”

That golden thread which runs through our history goes back even further – to the Declaration of Arbroath of 1320. Its stirring call to freedom is often quoted, but for me the most important part of it, which puts it so far ahead of its time, is the clear declaration that even the great Robert the Bruce is “King, not only by right of succession according to our laws and customs, but also with the due consent of us all” and goes on to warn him that should he betray that trust “we would instantly strive to expel him as our enemy and the betrayer of his own rights and ours, and we would choose another king to rule over us who would be equal to the task of our defence”

A Commissioner at the Kirk’s General Assembly in 1989 summed it up more succinctly – “They said to Robert, you might be the King, but ye dae as ye’re telt, or ye’re on the burroo”

I love that bit .... "dae as ye’re telt, or ye’re on the burroo"...

So in that bit of 'England' north of the border Brenda's writ runs only in so far as she daes as she is telt. Otherwise it's the burroo; or possibly a slap in the face with an Arbroath Smokie!

Once upon a time in the North.

So; here we are again, happy as can be, all good friends and jolly good company!
Up to a point Lord MacCopper.
Interesting set of articles from Open Democracy, Ooor Kingdom!

We see things very differently below Adrian's Wal, but we do so at our peril.
We do so especially if we are an English Toff about to govern a united kingdom (?) with a government of English Toffs.

Rabbi Burns

Rabbi Burns has much to teach us!

Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face
Great puddin o’ the chieftain race!
A boon them a’ ye tak your place….

That reversal includes many.

Still, mustn’t grumble. Well fed and watered on Burn’s night, drouthy neibours meeting drouthy neibours, it is a pleasure to read his words and the images that spring to mind.

It is impenetrable language for many, and his reputation has slipped over the years, sadly. Is that because he was demonstrably human or just poor?

Holy Willie crafts a rare argument for ‘virtue’ which we would all do weel to bear in mind….

O Lord, Thou kens what zeal I bear,
When drinkers drink, an' swearers swear,
An' singin there, an' dancin here,
Wi' great and sma';
For I am keepit by Thy fear
Free frae them a'.

But yet, O Lord! confess I must,
At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust:
An' sometimes, too, in wardly trust,
Vile self gets in;
But Thou remembers we are dust,
Defil'd wi' sin.

In addition to the thorn of lust how many of us could put our hands on our hearts and truly say we are not guilty of:

Travelling on the Sabbath;

Not reading the Bible on a Sunday;

Digging the garden on the Sabbath.

So then, guilty as charged.

May we all be preserved from canting hypocrites and enjoy sharing the earth with the

Wee sleekit, cow’rin, tim’rous beastie

And the

Panic in his breastie.

Still

Its comin’ yet, for a’that
That man to man, the warld o’er,
Shall brothers be for a’ that!

Sorry Lassies; it’s a sort of male bonding Laddie thing!
I Wish!

Our friends in the north

Christopher Harvie has an interesting piece in Open Democracy

"Choosing Scotland's future": a compressed history.

I leave you to ponder that from the man who used Deep Fried Hillman Imp for a book title.

He has, in the article, used the phrase sub-prime minister. I’m sure that Gordy finds it very wounding! I’ve not seen it previously. Who knows it may catch on!

For all I know, one of the cabinet wags may have attached it to Gordy's back on a post it note

Glasgow Games

Many of our non-co-respondents complain about my lack of interest in sport, notwithstanding my goodladywife's passion for beefy men throwing an odd shaped ball around. Now, to set this matter to rights.
Glasgow is due to host the Commonwealth Games in 2014. Hooray!

The Leader of the Scottish Government, a Mr Salmo Salmar, is quoted in the Grauniad as saying

... the city would "make these games the greatest sporting event our country has ever seen".

The same article quotes a Mr Godron Broon, the Leader of the English Government,

"It's looking like a great sporting decade for our country," he said.

It was alleged that he

called many Commonwealth heads of government to bolster Glasgow's bid last week

Hats off all round. Nice to see the old chums getting on so well and being so effective. See what you can do when you work together as a team lads? No nasty sniping about all that (Scottish) lottery money being smuggled over the border for the (English) Olympic Games. You'll be whinging on about the (Scottish) oil next.

As the workperson once said when they were demolishing the roof of the Rector's office at Edinburgh University( I believe the Rector was one G Broon Esq. at the time)

It's no polical, pal!

Fun and games in the years ahead!

Reading Bad Science, see side panel, I was reminded of the Glasgow sobriquet common in my time in the north - YOU TUBE. - Maybe it persists to this day and is still a term of affectionate banter, as well as being something to do with the interweb. However, I would be vary wary of calling anyone a copper tube.
Thanks to Ben Goldacre for the link, possibly.