The Auld Alliance - Wake Up England

The speech of Mr. Sarkozy - "le gush" - sounded almost too good to be true. Maybe the phrase "beware Greeks bearing gifts" should be amended to "beware French speaking compliments" - if bought down to a personal level most people would cynically ask themselves "what does he want?"

The melting ice cap of 9600 BC created the North Sea barrier, allowing us to forge our own future through self-determination, relatively uninfluenced by the rest of mainland Europe and we have, until now, utilised the geographical separation very successfully.
For me the most significant words of this afternoon's verbal "love-in" were spoken not by our French neighbour, but by Mr. Michael Martin, speaker of the house of commons.

Was he speaking as a member of the British Parliament or as someone who has watched Mel Gibson cry "Freedom" far too many times - and does he actually realise what the term "Auld Alliance" means to those south of Hadrian's Wall?

England, the birthplace of true democracy, is sleepwalking to oblivion. The distrust felt towards those who have always eyed this land with jealousy and envy couples with the sense of self-preservation generated by hundreds of years of practical experience, is being systematically erased by others from outside our borders - and any arguments to the contrary are considered to be politically incorrect and inappropriate for 21st century globalisation.

Wake up England! Listen carefully to the Scottish accent that began proceedings earlier today - the sentiment behind the carefully crafted speech was "Och aye, ma French friend - let's rid ourselves of this minor irritation called England once and for all!"

There Goes the Neighbourhood

What an Easter that was, moving house is no fun in the best of weather, but still, all went well and the kids are now warming themselves by the fire, looking forward to their new life in the Warwickshire countryside. It's much healther than the last place, Hackney, East London - we had to move from there because it was needed for the 2012 Olympics - but being good European citizens, it was the least we could do, the Olympics is for all of Britain, not just London - well, that's what they told us. However, I'm a little concerned about our new neighbours, and the effect that they might have on the kids. The jovial loose-lipped landlord of the pub was telling me that their lifestyle was a little "unusual" - to say the least. She's on her second husband, although she doesn't live with her latest - it's a "pretend" marriage. Their house is just where they conveniently bump into each other to exchange warm sweaty greetings, if you know what I mean. Apparently she's got a decent job in the city with lots of perks - and from the look of the house I can see where all the extras go - although it's a little bit too extravagant for my taste. He's a different kettle of fish altogether, much older, well connected and according to the landlord, over-friendly with some big Italian laundering business. He went on to say that the police were after him for sticky-fingered law-breaking and that he definitely deserves a stretch inside - and the depressing thing is that we moved here to get away from that sort of thing. I just hope that my kids don't get unduly influenced when they see them flaunting their materialistic trappings of dubious financial activities - they're good kids, they deserve a chance to grow up amongst law-abiding people in a decent Christian community.

Alistair and Rowan - Separated at birth

I opened the dusty file and checked the documents, there was no doubt that these two were brothers. The paperwork was almost irrelevant, it was as clear as the ridiculous grin on both of their faces.
Even though they had never met there were remarkable similarities in their colourful past that hinted at a genetic link and a predetermined behavioural pattern.
Both had been brought up in very privileged circumstances, educated at various private schools leading unswervingly to a top university education. Both of them had rebelled against the direction taken by their fathers, and both had strong family links to the world of politics.

There was a note pencilled at the bottom of the page, an explanation of the premature loss of cranial pigmentation to one of the brothers - the details were unclear but the words "traumatic experience," "flock of sheep" and "rarified highland air" were still easily discernable.
One of the brothers had risen to the top of his chosen profession and become a well-known household name, putting his signature to many important scripts and televised events - the other had also often been seen on prime-time television, but had assumed the role of a bumbling idiot.
At that moment there was a knock on the door - I quickly replaced the file into the cabinet and quietly closed the drawer. An East Lothian accent asked, "Would ya like a wee dram afore ye go?" I declined and left hurriedly.

Referendum? Those in favour say Och-Aye-Dee.

I tuned my wireless to the Home Programme and listened to that wee lassie Jocki McMalvern, I think she was quoting from my favourite book "Och the noo Labour" on the subject of introducing Identity Cards - such an orator, so dependable - I canny understand why youz English folk are not battering down the doors of the local DSS offices demanding that you carry the wee insignificant biometric retina-scanned dna fingerprint thingy in each and every one of your sporrans - I mean, it sooo sensible.

I turned down the volume on the gramophone playing the medley of memories from "Andy McStewarts White Leather Club" and listened closely to her soft dulcid arguments - "If you wanted to open a bank account or buy a car" she said, or "open a bank account" or "buy a car" or "open a bank account" - aye, aye, it did get a little repetitive - but that's the way that youz folk will eventually give up your meaningless opposition ... did I mention "open a bank account?" - aye, aye, I think I did.

Thank goodness that other woman, I like to call her English Vicky, didn't ask any questions about the referendum debate ... Jocki McMalvern is good, but she canna hold too much in her pretty little head at one time. Did I mention Bank account, ID cards, Big Brother? Ooops, skip that last one.

I stopped listening, it became juss-a-wee monotonous, I dipped my silver spoon into the steaming bowl of porridge and opened the newspaper at the horoscopes ... I'm on the cusp, February 20th, Pisces with the earth in opposition and Jacobite rising .... it said "An old enemy is watching you, but as long as you use the whip the self-serving labouring animals around your feet will do your bidding." Now what on earth does that mean? But there was more: "You have been given a golden opportunity, a Supermarket Sweep - grab what you can in the next two years and don't worry about the mess, fill up your trolley and run like hell to the Hills in the North."

I smiled - you know the smile, the one that I've been practicing for those camera thingies. I finished my porridge, leaned over and picked up a dictionary. I wanted to find another word for "Treaty" just to confuse the hostile natives. I wandered over to the window, it was a bright blue sky - but I do miss those green hills of home. Never mind, only two years to go. I checked my wristwatch, I think it's time for another review.

A TIME FOR CHANGE (AGAIN)

My fellow Amalgamates .... it's a time for change. A time to sweep away the .... empty brown envelopes that have been pushed beneath the .... hand-woven carpets of .... those who believe that .... to serve their country is a private gateway to a better lifestyle.

It's a time to gather our strength .... to muster our resources .... to open our bulging wallets and invest in shares of companies that stand to benefit from our pseudo radical proposals.

It's a time for change .... loose change .... lots of loose change .... jingling like the jackpots flowing from the fruit machines in our .... brand new, highly rewarding, carefully placed casinos.
For me the world is a kitchen ... a zoo ... a playing field ... an expenses paid trip to Dubai ... a limo through an orchard ... gathering fruit ... gathering speed ... gathering autographs for my children so that ... god forbid ... when I'm gone ... these autographs will be another little nest egg.

It's a time for change ... for pausing before we act ... for pausing to enhance the effect of total sincerity ... for pausing before pressing the "transfer" button while online banking.

It's a time to gather all the like-minded self-serving cronies around me ... Scots, women ... more Scots, more women ... sod it ... Scottish women.
I ask for your vote, your X in the box, your fingerprint and DNA - I stand before you as a leader ... a fresh breeze and a faceful of hot air ... a blast from the past.

DNA - GRAMMATICAL SUBTERFUGE

Beware the grammatical trickery - they've used this phrase before!
The words "The government has no plans," used as a reply to public worries concerning a compulsory national DNA data base is a smoke screen. Of course they've looked into it - that's what they do - you know they do! The only problem these control freaks have is balancing its introduction against the number of lost votes at the next election.
Scotland is chilly, beautiful, but chilly. However, the thought of "heading to the hills" is becoming more and more attractive by the day - I must remember to buy a warm jacket.