Category Archives: Writing

The Admiral showed me a new contraption he’d cobbled together from discarded pieces of circuitry and an old record player. In essence it was an alarm clock. At the specified hour, the device would spring to life, activating the turntable and lowering the stylus arm onto the record. Result – you woke up to the gentle sound of a Chopin sonata or koto music from Japan. He hadn’t tried it yet but assured me it would be 100% effective.

I doubted whether the invention would ever be commercially viable, what with its need for discarded pieces of circuitry and an old record player, but the Admiral countered that my use of the word ‘viable’ was pejorative, whatever that means.

We left his flat to find the nearest purveyor of vigorous dark ale and spent several hours testing degrees of vigour before the barman called time. At this point the Admiral stood, briefly, then sat down again. He stood a second time and buttoned his cardigan, badly, leaving an extra button dangling at the bottom. He sat down once more and suggested we try again, heartily, only this time that I should do the standing. It seemed only fair so I stood, abruptly, knocking over both chair and table and, attempting to retain a shred of diginity, blaming him.

There was a limit to how far we would get in such a condition and it was decided that, the Admiral’s flat being nearest, it would be far enough if I could reach his sofa. En route to the sofa The Admiral explained he had an early start, as he had a couple of days’ work at the hospital devising a way of keeping tags on runaway patients. He said it would be an opportunity to test his new alarm clock and were it not for runaway patients he would have no use for such a gadget.

“I’m going to make doubly sure I don’t sleep in,” said the Admiral, his last words of the evening as he set the device for 7am and left me muttering incomprehensibly about kotos.

I slept as if consigned to a morgue but was awoken by the gentle stirrings of Motorhead’s ‘Ace of Spades’ at a level likely to have been set at the Admiral’s last party. It was a testament to his electronic ingenuity that the device actually worked, but it didn’t work for long as a high velocity boot was soon to be seen heading towards it from the direction of the sofa.

A Cause For Alarm

April 20, 2014

In which Tony Boaks and The Admiral conduct some experiments with vigorous dark ale.

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Bluesky

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I met LaFlamme at the Botanical Gardens. “It’s a fecund paradise,” she said. Her language was quite shocking at times.

We were on a semi-furtive mission to procure a cutting from a particular herbaceous perennial, the name of which continues to escape me despite The Admiral’s repeated tellings. The Admiral had been researching an apparently highly effective hangover cure which depended on the leaves and stem of the plant. Early tests with a garden centre variety were hampered by our collective inability to keep anything in a pot alive apart from fungus, and it was decided that growing a little guy from scratch might bring out a parental instinct that would help discourage him from dying.

“Mental torment,” I said. “Mental torment. Mentalent. Mentalor. Mentament.”

“What are you doing?” said LaFlamme.

“This is how I remember the name,” I replied. “I start with mental torment then combine the words in different ways until it comes back to me.”

“How do you remember mental torment?” said LaFlamme.

“Mental torment comes naturally to me. Talmanent. Talmator. Talmanentator. Talmanenta-latertater.”

“Tormentil.”

“Tormentil,” I said, nodding. “I would have gotten there eventually.”

“Maybe,” said LaFlamme, “but I wasn’t sure how much mental torment I could take.”

We found an uncharacteristically useful piece of graphic design in the form of a signpost. It read ‘Herbaceous Perennials.’ This led us to a winding path on a shallow incline towards an extensive rockery. When the incline turned steep, my own incline was to turn back but LaFlamme was two paces ahead of me and I was blinded by her milky-white calves.

As the incline levelled out, we rounded a corner and LaFlamme stopped abruptly, forcing the top of my head to collide with her back. It had long been my dream to collide with LaFlamme but this wasn’t quite what I had in mind. I peered round from behind her elegant frame to find a well-groomed, middle-aged gentleman with fine, thinning hair. He had secateurs in one hand, a cutting in the other, and wore an expression of utter guilt. He froze in a half-turned position, as if unsure whether to make the full 180 or return to base. Either he too was blinded by the fullbeam effect of LaFlamme’s legs or he was up to no good.

“Phlobaphenes,” he said. It was an unusual opening gambit and suggested the latter.

“Do you work here?” asked LaFlamme.

He hesitated before replying in a painfully hesitant whine: “Yes?”

“Why are you wearing a suit?” I asked.

“I try to be presentable at all times?” he said, again offering his reply in question form as if testing how much we were willing to believe. “It shows the plants due respect?”

When I stepped out from LaFlamme’s shadow, something I’m unable to do often, I recognised the man. It was gourmet, bon viveur and Martini devotee, Suave Gav, who I’d met at a winemakers convention. I was only there because I designed a flyer for one of the exhibitors and thought there’d be freebies. But Suave Gav was altogether more serious. He was taking notes.

“Armstrong,” he said, extending his secateurs. “Gavin. I believe we may have met previously. To be perfectly honest, we extract phlobaphenes and triterpene alcohol from the Potentilla Erecta. It produces a rousing Bavarian liqueur called Blutwurz.” It was certainly plausible that the plant he was interfering with could produce a rousing Bavarian liqueur. Less plausible was the idea that scholarly botanic types called it Potentilla Erecta. But they did. Go ahead, look it up.

“Potentilla Erecta?” said LaFlamme. “That does sound rousing. Does it have any special powers? You know, increased circulation, hot flushes, shortness of breath, panting, drooling?”

“Oh yes,” said Armstrong. “Its health benefits are well documented. A compound prepared from the roots and bark has been used to treat a number of ailments from headaches to pimples. It’s often used in herbal medicine as an astringent due to its tannin content.”

“Anything else?” asked LaFlamme.

“Yes,” he replied. “Prepared rather differently, it can give you a thumping great erection.” This was evidently the answer LaFlamme was looking for, and she giggled with delight.

I stepped towards the herbaceous bush and viewed its accompanying signage. ‘Potentilla Erecta,’ it read. ‘Common name: Tormentil.’ So this was the elusive shrub The Admiral asked us to track down for his dubious and very likely fruitless experiment. It was nothing to look at. Its straggly low-lying leaves seemed banal and its weak yellow flowers a bit uninspiring. I wondered if it might feel much the same about me. Skinny, it would say, not very tall individual with pale skin and a heavy frown that won’t be forgiving in middle-age. Probably ought to quit moping and take some exercise.

But whatever we made of each other’s appearance, it was a multitalented plant that could both cause a hangover and cure it, not to mention having the combined powers of Aspirin, Clearasol and Viagra. It was a wonder there wasn’t a queue of impotent spotty migraine sufferers all desperate for a hair of the dog.

The Special Powers Of Tormentil

April 5, 2014

In which Tony and LaFlamme first encounter deviant gastrophile, Suave Gav.

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Bluesky

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Last week, I was asked to curate @ScotVoices, the rotating Twitter account featuring a different Scot each week. I was delighted to be asked, although it was probably naïvety on their part. They gave me a set of guidelines. I didn't read them. They said people follow the account to find out about Scotland. I told them I was used to having huge amounts of fun at the expense of others and was ideal ambassador material. They let me wade right in.

Monday

I thought it was only fair to offer some sort of mini-disclaimer in case there were timid souls amongst the ScotVoices crowd.

By the time I made it over to the interactions tab there were already a few welcoming words.

And this query from noted Scotsman columnist/problem, Euan McColm.

Which was dealt with promptly.

I explained that I was the man who tried to sell a fleet of Trident nuclear submarines on Ebay, that I’d set up Regional Collective: Artists and Creatives Against Independence on behalf of Alistair Darling, and was now best known for National Collective’s Sunday Cartoons, of which this was the latest.

In case that didn’t clarify my position on Scottish Independence, I went further:

And, continuing the Gove theme:

Later, in trying to explain how we arrived at the title ‘Tony Boaks Versus The Union’, I felt it would be sensible to ask:

However, it was the following innocuous exchange which appeared to cause a problem:

At that point, this happened:

I believe it may have been the first tuba to ever break the camel’s back. But I wasn’t too worried because at the same time there was this:

After more prodding by The Scotsman’s McColm, it occurred to me that certain elements of the press might love nothing better than a ‘National Collective Guy Loses Temper, Says Something Regrettable on ScotVoices’ story.

But that was never likely.

Tuesday

Having spent Day One upsetting No campaigners, confusing Americans and alarming National Collective, I tried to avoid politics.

That lasted about ten minutes. I didn't sign up to Twitter to talk about basket-weaving.

Much conversation ensued. The general consensus was that pandas were vastly preferable to princes, and I got the distinct impression that the ScotVoices crowd considered our royal family to be a bunch of expensive duds.

Wednesday

Today there were voices expressing concern at my ‘politicising’ ScotVoices.

I believe the expectation was that, being part of National Collective, I should be discussing wish trees, knitting & Icelandic goatherding. I thought about trying to placate them, then decided against it.

Well, let me tell you, the account went like a steamtrain for the rest of the day and I pretty much sat back and let them get on with it.

The results of this ludicrously unscientific poll were as follows:

Amongst the No responses, one foretold - in great subsequent detail - how it would lead to Bosnian-style violence:

Another described it as “silly” and continued:

I said The Scotsman would tend to agree with her - their editorials generally announce 'Scottish Independence: What's The Point?' every day of the week. Surprisingly, on hearing this, up popped The Scotsman’s assistant editor, Nick Eardley.

That he felt this was something he should rise to defend made me think there was doubt in his mind, so I offered a suggestion for the following day's leader:

Thursday

At this point in the week I am generally wondering what to draw for the Sunday Cartoon. As Rose Garnett wasn’t around, I dressed up my bone-idleness as a ‘collaborative group project’ and asked the ScotVoices crowd for ideas.

Initially it was slim pickings, with the only possibility being 'Daily Mail editor Paul Dacre riding a dinosaur with naked lassies on a rocket ship blasting into Ed Miliband's bum' (@Masterwiggins). However, I had to turn this down as nobody has ever seen Paul Dacre.

This had a galvanising effect and the suggestions came thick and fast. It reminded me that there’s nothing like abuse for getting things done.

Some of these weren’t even that bad, and gave me the sense that the Tory Party Conference should feature. When this message arrived however, my heart sank:

I had become ‘the guy who draws Blair McDougall in a funny wig.’

Friday

I awoke with an overwhelming sense of dread. I was having a serious cartoonist’s block and all I could do was blame others for the predicament:

My weekend, on the other hand, was likely to involve more tiresome Bacchanalian feasting and the occasional raising of my weary head from the bosom of some maiden to draw speech bubbles.

I spent the rest of the day doing everything I could to avoid the issue. I complained that I didn’t really want to be a cartoonist and my current situation was entirely the fault of Scotland On Sunday’s Kenny Farquharson.

At which point, in stepped the man himself.

Which @Gknollington saw right through:

This of course was all displacement activity. Eventually, I was rumbled.

Saturday

The situation was now critical. I had made a big deal about producing a collaborative Sunday Cartoon and here I was on Saturday without a single idea in my head. I couldn’t very well say ‘You know that cartoon we were discussing? Not going to happen.’

I wasted even more time with a #ScotVoicesWisdom thread, hoping something would come up.

But ScotVoices readers were not fooled. This was ‘bawbaggery of the highest order’ (@johnferguson88).

Mercifully, at this point Rose Garnett arrived and poured a sherry-like substance into two glasses.

“What’s the story?” she asked.

“Tory party conference,” I replied.

“What do you have so far?”

“’It's Raining Bastards.’”

She shot me a glance so icy that I thought I might turn to stone. A painful ten minutes passed while she got to grips with the details.

“It’s not that the Tories don’t care about losing Scotland,” she said finally. “It’s just that they think there’s no chance of it happening.”

This was something of a eureka moment for me, and five minutes later I was able to announce the following:

And several hours later, this:

Sunday

You can see the finished piece here.

So what had I learnt from my week’s incarceration at ScotVoices Tower?

As if to confirm that this was indeed the case, The Scotsman's McColm reappeared.

But nobody paid him any attention. I was on a roll.

Finally, I signed off with this:

For more abuse & information on all-body home-perming kits, follow me @gregmoodie.

@ScotVoices And Me

October 11, 2013

Last week, I was asked to curate @ScotVoices, the rotating Twitter account featuring a different Scot each week. I was delighted to be asked, although it was probably naïvety on their part.

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Bluesky

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Regional Collective: Artists And Creatives Against Scottish Independence

By Alistair Darling

Now look. I only got into this because of that Joyce McMillan and her ‘all the artists are voting Yes’ nonsense. This may or may not be true, but if it is, it’s because Alex Salmond promised them a washing-free independent Scotland. If he’d said independence meant getting out of bed sober before noon and looking presentable, they’d very soon come around to Better Together.

Of course there are Scottish artists who support the UK. There must be. Just because I haven’t met any doesn’t mean they don’t exist. Admittedly we’re lacking any equivalent of that dreadful National Collective and their woeful bleatings about wishing trees and Icelandic goat herders. Even their cartoons are poor. I haven’t been in a single one of them. Better Together’s lack in this regard may not necessarily be a bad thing. Do you really want 500 Questions dressed up as an extended prose poem? Or a demolition of the SNP’s currency plans in rap?

But not to be outdone, I have taken the initiative and set up a new website, Regional Collective – Artists and Creatives Against Scottish Independence, as a platform for No-voting artistic types. You know who you are, even if I don’t. Let this be a starting point for a new flourishing of anti-independence bile in the creative arts.

Why me, I hear you ask. Well, somebody has to do it. I may not be much of an artist but I’m certainly creative. As Chancellor of the Exchequer, I was the one who bailed out the banks with your money, a hugely imaginative act which I’m sure would never have occurred to any of you; I’ve flipped for Britain, having designated four properties as my second home in four years; and I claimed parliamentary expenses for a flat that I let out whilst also claiming living allowances for Downing Street. I’d like to see Alan Bissett try that.

So, on to the website. My first challenge was to design a logo. Now, my understanding of typesetting is that you should use as many different colours and styles as possible but stick to well-known fonts such as Comic Sans and Brush Script for maximum effect. Hence, my first effort:

The result of this was that I had to get Ian Taylor to pay National Collective for the logo at the top of the page. We may not have any design sense but we certainly have a truckload of cash, and in politics that’s what counts.

What about the actual content of the site? Well, let’s start with photography. And just to show we can do Icelandic goat-herders as well as any secessionists bent on breaking up Britain, here’s a man with a bucket:

Regional Collective3

I’m not seeing any ice in this particular shot but I’m led to believe the most amazing results can be achieved with Photoshop. Whether that extends to painting in a grassroots artists’ collective that doesn’t exist remains to be seen.

Next – a poem in the Scots tongue:

But pith and power, till my last hour, I’ll mak this declaration; We’re bought and sold for English gold, Such a parcel of incredibly dedicated and hard-working public servants in a nation.

Perhaps the biggest challenge for the website would be in the field of illustration as, unlike photography and poetry, it requires some skill. I set out with pencil and paper, thinking a self-portrait might give the site a little character:

Regional Collective4

And so it did. It gave it a little character with bushy eyebrows waving a flag. Once again, I had to get Ian Taylor to pay National Collective for the portrait below, even though I’m not convinced it’s a particularly true likeness.

Regional Collective5

If this exercise proves nothing else, we’ve shown we can keep National Collective in work.

One final point. Let it never be said that Better Together are offering a politics of fear rather than any kind of positive vision. Of course we’re offering a positive vision – if you vote Yes, you’re positively screwed.

Now, calling all No-supporting artists. Are you there? Hello?

Ok, call me.

Regional Collective: Artists And Creatives Against Scottish Independence

June 28, 2013

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Bluesky

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Readers of The Scotsman will be aware that trolling is unique to supporters of independence. VILE ABUSIVE CYBERNATS are generally what’s wrong with the world today whilst saintly No campaigners are too busy knitting Better Together cardigans to ever pick fights.

Personally I’ve never understood why anyone from either side would want to post inflammatory messages online in order to provoke others into heated arguments. I have Unionist friends for that. If you really have enough time to devote an entire afternoon to self-righteousness (as I found out, trolling is time-consuming), presumably in order to feel better about yourself, you might want to step out into the daylight and question why you don’t have a girlfriend.

It was this very lack of understanding of the troll’s motivation that made me conduct some experiments this week. I very soon realised that being a successful troll is not as easy as it looks. It requires patience, commitment and of course an ability to wade swiftly through screeds of utter drivel.

These are just a few of the real conversations I had on Twitter with No campaigners.

No campaigner: Stop the EU’s plan to break up the UK!

Me: How can I get involved?

No campaigner: (Sends link to UKIP site.)

Me: Should I be renouncing the BNP at this stage in the game? I mean, changing horses midstream and all that.

No campaigner: Absolutely renounce them. They are against trade and cooperation with Europe. We are only against a political union.

Me: Ok thanks. And I’d be able to join UKIP even though I’m a bit.. you know?

No campaigner: What?

Me: Well, I was never an actual member or anything.

Me: But I have a swastika tattooed on my forehead. Would that be a problem?

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————-

No campaigner: Latest bombshell – title deeds may be null and void in indy Scotland. First your savings, then your pension, then your house – game’s up SNP.

Me: I’m going to lose my house?

No campaigner: You could. The SNP don’t know. Vote no.

Me: That’s terrible. Even though we have a separate legal system that pre-dates the act of union? How’s that going to work?

Me: I mean, that’s not scaremongering or anything, is it?

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————–

No campaigner: Making the positive case for the Union, one doorstep at a time. Funded by real people, not lottery winners.

Me: Are you saying the lottery winners aren’t real people?

No campaigner: If they weren’t, the SNP would have to make them up. No-one else would fund this shambles.

Me: They looked pretty substantial to me. Of generous proportions, even.

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No campaigner: Post 2014 I’d name new Forth crossing ‘The Union Bridge’ in celebration of #indyref victory.

Me: I didn’t understand what you meant at first and then I realised. The union between the Lothians and Fife, right?

No campaigner: No, The Union Bridge in honour of the first democratic ratification of the United Kingdom.

Me: The whatty whatty what of the what?

No campaigner: You know what I mean, when Scots vote ‘Feck off Alex’ next year.

Me: We’re going to become Irish?

No campaigner: and Welsh and English.

Me: I see. Is ‘The Ulster Unionist Bridge’ really the best name we can come up with though? I mean, maybe something snappier?

No campaigner: Perhaps.

Me: Will I have to wear a bowler hat to cross it?

No campaigner: It was firstly a Game Keeper’s hard hat. So perhaps if heading north to the moors?

Me: There’ll be a game-keeper at the other side? In a bowler hat? Like passport control?

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————-

At this point I realised my trolling was not being hugely successful. The No campaigners caught on to my trolly-ness and stopped feeding me, and of course if you don’t feed the troll, he dies.

I was beginning to lose heart and thinking I might not be cut out for the trolling business at all. I could either duck out now before serious bad karma set in or up my game and perhaps take more time reeling in my campaigners. I decided on the latter.

No campaigner: Imagine if 5 million Blacks got together and demanded an indyref to break UK but you were excluded from vote as you aren’t Black?

Me: Come again?

No campaigner: What if any UK group the size of ‘Team Yes’ got together and demanded a separate state? Excluding you from vote.

Me: Black people should decide the indyref vote?

No campaigner: Should any minority group within a Union get to vote to break up a Union whilst excluding other union members from a vote?

Me: You mean like Poles For Independence or suchlike?

No campaigner: Yes, if any minority group got together to create their own State.

Me: Like if the Poles wanted to break up the union but didn’t let the Blacks have a say?

No campaigner: But didn’t let anybody other than Poles have a say.

Me: Where do the Asians fit into all this?

No campaigner: Questioning 5 million Brits that are calling for indyref that will break up a 60m strong UK Union only allowing 10m to vote.

Me: Do gays have a say in your plan?

Me: But no gingers, right?

Me: Do you also agree that the big-boned shouldn’t be allowed to fund political campaigns?

Me: Speaking of funding: (Sends link to National Collective’s donations page.)

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This exchange was so spectacularly stupid that for a time I thought the No campaigner was trolling me. I was pleased that I managed to draw out his deranged idea in some detail but still I believed I was probably the worst troll ever. I hadn’t really managed to wind anyone up and one campaigner even said he was ‘enjoying my Socratic pedantry’. I explained that there was no point in continuing if he was enjoying it. Even worse, I thought I was experiencing symptoms of Stockholm Syndrome and starting to empathise with the No campaigners. I even bought a UKOK hat.

But just when I was ready to throw in the towel, the following genius appeared on my timeline:

No campaigner: Nationalism is an ideology best suited for a people who are being oppressed, not for a people who live in a free nation.

Me: Do you think we should oppress the Scots in order to justify their nationalism? Maybe get them to bugger off sooner?

No campaigner: Who is them?

Me: The uppity Jocks, of course. You agree they’re a problem, yes?

No campaigner: yes I do think separatists/nationalists are a problem!

No campaigner: I always say if Germany can ban/investigate far-right parties that may pose a threat…

No campaigner:…then why can’t the UK government do the same to defend the nation’s union?

Me: Surely there’s a difference between the Nazis and the Nats though, no? I mean what are the chances of the Nats invading Poland?

No campaigner: They won’t destroy Poland but they want 2 destroy the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.

No campaigner: Nazis/far-Right groups pose a threat to Germany as much as nationalists/separatists pose to Britain.

Me: If true, that’s terrible. Wouldn’t people like you and I be deemed intellectuals?

No campaigner: What? What are you getting at? Who would deem us?

Me: Well, as you say, the Nats pose as much threat to UK as far right to Germany. If Nats have their way..

Me:..the Greater Scotlandic State will probably want rid of all sorts, and intellectuals might well be top of their list.

No campaigner: Is that what they’re calling it?

No campaigner: I think if they had a list, they might start with the 70%+ unionists that will be voting NO.

Me: Then you and I are doubly screwed. Hell, if we were gay Jewish gypsies, that would be a full house.

No campaigner: Well, that is where we must learn from history…

No campaigner:…that if a group is determined to case destruction to both a nation’s sovereignty and society then they must be stopped!!

Me: Wouldn’t banning them just force them underground?

No campaigner: Better underground where they can’t make, effect or change policies and borders!

Me: Ok. Re threat to sovereignty, what do we tell those who say sovereignty in Scotland resides with the people & not parliament?

No campaigner: We stand up and tell them “tuff!” and that this country belongs to the crown and has no room for traitors in HRH governments.

Me: Awesome, thanks. You don’t mind if I publish this conversation, do you? It’s really helped me.

No campaigner: Publish it, what for?

Troll

May 6, 2013

Readers of The Scotsman will be aware that trolling is unique to supporters of independence. VILE ABUSIVE CYBERNATS are generally what’s wrong with the world today whilst saintly No campaigners are too busy knitting Better Together cardigans to ever pick fights. (First published at A Thousand Flowers. National Collective refused to have anything to do with it.)

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Bluesky

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One of the main reasons Scottish unionist MPs are so desperate to keep the UK together is self-preservation. Post-independence, they’ll have no say in Westminster matters and with no affiliation to Holyrood, unlike MSPs, they’ll have no say there either. They’re going to be out of work.

As there are 59 Scottish seats in the Westminster parliament and 41 of them are held by Labour, it’s not hard to see who’ll be dealt the majority of the p45s. This could be a problem for the Scottish Government, as seeing Jim Murphy wandering the streets around Holyrood with his face tripping him would dampen anyone’s spirits.

Unfortunately, finding a solution might not be so straightforward. Most unionist MPs are unfamiliar with the concept of real work and if you handed them a shovel they’d probably ask what it was. Obviously, being unemployable is no hindrance if you intend to join Lord Foulkes in the upper chamber. But what if you want to be useful instead?

Let’s ignore the possibility that some, incensed at Scotland having chosen independence, might refuse to have anything to do with their native country. Instead, we’ll assume that self-preservation and love of limelight win out and that the redundants agree to make the most of it, albeit through gritted teeth and near-continuous whining.

First off, if they intend to remain in Scotland, they’ll find they belong to parties which don’t yet exist. Actual Scottish parties will have to be formed which don’t depend on being told what to do by Westminster. This could be challenging for many.

Some might hope to be parachuted into a safe seat south of the border. But as, in their own words, they’d be considered foreigners in the remainder of the UK, this could be problematic. It’s really only an option for Scotland’s last surviving Conservative MP, David Mundell, because one Tory more or less in England won’t be noticed.

For the rest, it means fighting through a selection process, competing with each other and standing in elections which they have no guarantee of winning – having told the electorate that they were rubbish for so long, the electorate have taken to returning the compliment.

In other words, even for the successful ones, getting back to work is going to take time. They could be unemployed for years in the interim period and still have no actual skills at the end of it.

That’s why I’m advocating a new Workfare scheme for former Scottish MPs. I know that this type of scheme has had terrible press and would not normally be considered by the Scottish Government. But as the vast majority of the MPs in question prefer to play by Westminster rules, it seems only fair to introduce, solely for their benefit, a system which they allowed to pass into law for the rest of us.

How it would work:

Following a Yes vote, there will be 18 months of deliberation whilst unionist MPs continue to draw a salary and ask each other whatever happened to the West Lothian question.

On independence day, some sort of severance package may be agreed, although the Scottish Government could avoid any part in this by retroactively introducing legislation, again in keeping with Westminster rules, to avoid having to make any payouts.

The former MPs will then be expected to stack shelves, mop floors and complete other menial tasks without payment for large profit-making businesses in order to gain references and experiences of the “working world”.

One MP who will not have to take part in the new scheme is the member for Glasgow South West, Ian Davidson. Davidson has been in several high-profile videos recently, and with his light and breezy charm, producers have marked him out as a natural for television. A new sitcom, “I’m not angry, I’m effing furious” is due to air in September 2014 when his light and breezy charm should be at a peak.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rcvhS-G8WNA&feature=youtu.be/

In conclusion, unemployment is not funny unless it happens to an MP.

Workfare for MPs

April 14, 2013

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Bluesky

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According to The Herald, Better Together plan to ‘step up debate in 2013’ by asking Scots what they would miss about Britain should Scotland vote for independence. Aside from the matter of Anas Sarwar showing us what their idea of stepping up debate looks like, who said anything about leaving Britain? Britain is an island, and even the most optimistic Yes voter knows removing Scotland could be tricky. You might as well ask what we’d miss about the sky.

Why not ask ‘what would you miss about the United Kingdom?’ or more specifically ‘what would you miss about Westminster?’ I’ll tell you why not. Because nobody cares about them. They don’t resonate in the public subconscious the way the word ‘Britain’ does. Britain’s the land of The Beatles, Matt Lucas and Team GB, and in the run-up to the referendum you’re not likely to be given a chance to forget it. Expect to see the line between Britain and the United Kingdom deliberately blurred, because opponents of Scottish independence are counting on you not to know the difference.

What they want you to think:

Britain/United Kingdom: Interchangeable.

Westminster: Seat of government and the only possible place for proper decision-making.

The facts:

Britain: Island.

United Kingdom: Political union.

Westminster: Home of Scottish Questions, a half-hour pseudo-debate where our sole Conservative MP, David Mundell, speaks on behalf of Scotland to a restless house eager to get on to more important matters.

It’s not possible for Scotland to leave Britain, just as it’s not possible to “lose our culture” through a political re-arrangement. What we’re leaving is a political entity.

The political entity is called the United Kingdom and it has a famous flag. The flag gets mistaken for the flag of Britain, but it’s the flag of the union. It has a lot to answer for, but it’s also become a weird kind of fashion symbol across the globe. It’s unusual amongst fashion symbols in that it’s indescribably ugly, but nonetheless it’s everywhere. Even Cubans have it on their handbags. Probably serves us right for all those Che Guevara t-shirts.

If you show the flag to an American and say that’s where you’re from, they’ll probably ask if you know Austin Powers. If you have no flag and say you’re from the United Kingdom they’ll probably ask where you learned to speak such good English.

The United Kingdom has a parliament. It’s called Westminster. It’s a bit like our parliament, but with ermine and rituals. Scotland doesn’t really need ermine and rituals and it doesn’t really need Westminster either. If we wanted to antagonise Europe and suck up to America we could do it ourselves.

Ah, Westminster. How I’ll miss you. Your pomp. Your splendour. Your pointless, unelected lords. You’re a monument to a bygone age. An age of empire, class divisions and privilege. But no matter that the Office for National Statistics has declared us the most unequal nation in Europe; according to Better Together, this is “as good as it gets.”

On Twitter, I asked the people who really matter – my fellow plebs, the Scottish voters – ‘what would you miss about Westminster?’ Most popular response was ‘nothing’, but that wasn’t going to help me write this article. So I kept prodding as I need all the help I can get. Here are the runners-up, which I may or may not have tweaked.

Governments we didn’t vote for.

Posturing on the world stage pretending we have an empire.

Pointless wars.

Trident missiles that will never be used, except accidentally.

Irrational antipathy towards Europe.

Chronic toadying to America.

Eagerness for US-style healthcare that even the US doesn’t want.

Dismantling of the welfare state.

Privatising everything that isn’t physically nailed down, despite the disastrous effects on the rail network and the utilities.

Having to pay for lords’ duckhouses and moats.

Lords.

MPs too busy scaremongering on independence to vote against welfare cuts.

Michael Gove.

Ah, Westminster. You refuse talks on independence then complain that Holyrood doesn’t have all the answers. You warn we’ll be a pound worse off under independence, unaware that most of us would happily pay more just to be rid of Gove. Your Scottish MPs claim they’ll be “looking out for Scotland”, but only once you eject them. You call Holyrood “a dictatorship” and illustrate exactly why we stopped voting for your parties. You say a Yes vote would put 19 hundred thousand billion jobs at risk. You say nobody will like us and we’ll be left sitting in a corner crying.

Yes, Westminster, I’ll miss your carping. But most of all I suppose I’ll miss your vision of a 21st century United Kingdom: joyless, unfair, unimaginative & frightened.

There is light at the end of the tunnel, Yes people. And with the Section 30 bill passed, Westminster’s role in the referendum process is over. Altogether now: ‘Missing you already!’

- See more at: http://nationalcollective.com/2013/01/22/what-would-you-miss-about-westminster/#sthash.pGKOcxiv.dpuf

What Would You Miss About Westminster?

January 22, 2013

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Following a barrage of fury-fuelled eruptions, Labour MP and chairman of the Scottish Affairs Select Committee Ian Davidson has agreed to be filmed as he completes a series of tasks set by his anger management counsellor.

Last week, in a team-building exercise, Ian was expelled from his local synchronised swimming group and banned from the pool after reports of explosive underwater outbursts. Fortunately, fellow team-members only caught half of his foul-mouthed ranting as they were doing the butterfly at the time and every second expletive was inaudible. Claiming the outbursts were not criticism of his team-mates, merely a bad case of rhinitis and a dodgy curry from the previous night, Ian nevertheless agreed to hang up his nose-clips.

This week, in an effort to regain the confidence of his counsellor, Ian is to take charge of the Royal Mile-based china shop, Dainty Delights, a confined space with a large selection of breakable objects, and report back on his progress.

It’s 9am and Ian has just opened up the shop. He has worn his tightest-fitting suit in order to maximise space and the additional restriction has already made him hot under the collar. Unfortunately the situation is not likely to improve as the first customer of the day bears more than a passing resemblance to BBC presenter Isobel Fraser.

Customer: I’m looking for a dinky little shepherdess, preferably blue.

Davidson: Well, if you want it that much, you can get up the effing stepladder and get it yourself.

Customer: Pardon?

Davidson: I will not apologise. Scotland doesn’t have the resources or expertise to make blue china shepherdesses or even import them so either you know it’s not there and you’re sending me on a fool’s errand or you’re incompetent. Anyway, if you think I’m climbing an effing stepladder in this heat after one of my legendary curries and ten pints of lager, you’ve got another thing coming.

The exchange doesn’t bode well for the rest of the day and by 9:45 Ian has already broken a row of Vittorio Tessaro figurines. He is in mid-rant when Labour party grandee Lord Foulkes enters Dainty Delights. This is ostensibly to acquire a gnome for his new duckhouse, but Ian suspects mischief.

Foulkes: Davo.

Davidson: Foulkesy.

Ian tells the film crew under his breath that Lord Foulkes ‘has something of the Nat about him’ and steps on a Toby jug, shattering it.

Foulkes: Gnomes.

Davidson: Whit? State your business or eff off.

Foulkes: Gnomes, Davo, I’m looking for gnomes.

Davidson: No gnomes.

Foulkes: I can see one from here. Top shelf at the back, above the Royal Worcester.

Davidson: Look, you ermine clown, if there’s a ladder involved, you’ll have to climb the effing thing yourself.

Foulkes: Ah cannae. Gout. It comes with the ermine which, I may add, you’re not likely to see at this rate.

Ian is faced with a dilemma. He believes Lord Foulkes has selected the most remote piece in the shop to torment him, but is eager to fulfill the terms of his placement. Reluctantly he positions the steps and clambers towards the top shelf, toppling a pair of Limoges vases in the process. He is about to grasp the gnome in question when there is a loud ripping sound from the seat of his snug-fitting pants. It very nearly causes him to lose his balance. This is followed by the sound of the phone and, realising from the ‘Smack My Bitch Up’ ring-tone that Natalie his counsellor is calling to check on his progress, he is eager to answer. If Ian doesn’t make a success of Dainty Delights after the synchronised swimming debacle, he will have to present for other, possibly more infuriating tasks.

Davidson: Foulkesy! Get that!

Foulkes: (answering) Hello? No, I havnae seen him, doll. He’s probably nipped out for a fag.

Davidson: Foulkesy! Foulkes sake!

Foulkes: What’s that? I’m his carer. To tell you the truth though, I’m not that fond of him.

Having secured the gnome, which coincidentally bears a strong resemblance to Lord Foulkes, Ian lunges for the phone but misses, striking the gnome on the glass shelf below and sending its contents of Royal Doulton frogs to the ground. Lord Foulkes has put the caller on speakerphone and Ian’s counsellor, hearing a torrent of abuse regarding gnomes and a global SNP conspiracy, suspects Ian may be having some difficulties.

Counsellor: Ian? Are you all right?

Davidson: Smashing.

Counsellor: Did I hear raised voices?

(Silence.)

Counsellor: I realise you may be doing your breathing exercises, so one tap for yes, two taps for no.

Ian collides with a row of Banbury Cross plates and this produces considerably more than the two taps the counsellor was ideally looking for. The disruption unsettles Ian and he takes exception to the word ‘tap.’

Davidson: Is this phone tapped?

Counsellor: What are you saying Ian? Are we going to talk about the plot again?

Davidson: How can I be expected to trust someone called Natalie?

Counsellor: You had similar problems with your previous counsellor, Alan.

Davidson: Alan Salmond? Yes that was always going to work, wasn’t it? Why don’t you and your mate Alan just come clean and stand for election? Pin your colours to the mast and your lugs back, woman.

Counsellor: Ian…

Davidson: Are you now or have you ever been an SNP activist?

By this point Counsellor Natalie has recognised the symptoms of emotional fatigue and has already called in a Swat team to administer a specially-developed budgie hood for the overwrought member. Ian immediately goes limp and is helped out of the shop, followed by his carer Lord Foulkes.

Next week, Ian is embarking on trust-building exercises in which participants are encouraged to put their complete faith in others. Unfortunately his team-mates will be selected from the Scottish National Party, something which Ian may find challenging.

Anger Management With Ian Davidson

August 13, 2012

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Better Together – Except for Viewers in Scotland

A personal introduction from Alistair Darling

This is your leader speaking. I’m here to welcome you to Better Together, the anti-independence campaign for people like you and I who believe having an upside-down smile counts as positivity.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: who the devil came up with that dreadful name? Not me. I said we needed razzmatazz and suggested ‘There’s no business like the No business.’ They said that was too long. I suggested ‘No No No.’ They said keep it positive. I said ‘Say Yes to Shackles.’ That was pooh-poohed so I said ‘Pooh-pooh to you,’ which wasn’t really a suggestion but was quite popular.

So, ‘Better Together’ it is then. A campaign for Real Scots Together, supporting tuition fees, spending £100bn on nuclear weapons and generally depending on Westminster to tell us what to do. We’ve been very open about who is funding it too, as transparency is everything and we agree that Scotland’s constitutional future should be decided by those who care most – in this case, United & Cecil, a Conservative dining club in Sussex.

What is our core message? ‘We think we will be a lot stronger and better off staying part of the UK because we have no imagination.’ That’s the positive part. Beyond that, it’s that independence would be a one-way ticket to hell. Look at the Americans. They tried it in 1776 and every July 4^th they cry into their watered-down beer and beg London to take them back. This year London’s not listening because they’re busy with the Olympics, trying to take the gold from Nigeria in the ‘Most Fraudulent’ event.

Which brings me to Libor. Was I involved in fiddling Libor whilst chancellor? I’ve been asked this many times and I repeat – I’m not musical. But look at what the scandal has done to the banks. LibDem leader Nick Clegg described them as “a source of embarrassment and shame,” although it’s likely he was just grateful it was somebody else’s turn.

The thing is, Scotland would never even get the chance to fiddle Libor because as Danny Alexander said, “independence would damage close ties with the rest of the UK’s financial industry, particularly the City of London.” Admittedly that’s a pretty good reason for a Yes vote and, as he also suggested independence could mean mortgage rises and possible invasion by the planet Zob, he’s not exactly Mr. Rational. But he has a point, which I think is this: independence will leave you with your trousers down and prone to bottom cancer.

Let’s take defence. Last week an expert said that an independent Scotland would be vulnerable to a 9/11-style attack. Now, if you put aside the fact that what an independent Scotland is really vulnerable to is Unionists talking complete balls, it’s incontrovertible that jihadists the world over are just waiting for the moment the country becomes independent in order to plough their 747’s into Jenners.

What about the business case? Well, in an independent Scotland, English, Irish and Welsh companies will have to be repatriated. Faced with this fact, what did Finance Minister John Swinney do? He announced a £105m economic stimulus package in a cynical attempt to maximise opportunities for job creation and growth. And meanwhile, uncertainty over independence has caused whisky firm Diageo to invest £1bn in Scotland.

The Nationalists are all over the place. Shadow Scottish Secretary Margaret Curran suggested they were losing heart and that “they used to believe in independence but it looks like they no longer do.” I didn’t really know what she meant by that and anyone wishing to contact her should probably dial the area code for her planet first. But at least she’s not as bad as that dreadful Lamont woman. Honestly, if there were an Olympic Incoherent Carping event, she would surely sweep the gold.

What of the Yes Scotland campaign? It was reported that newly-appointed chief executive Blair Jenkins called for “a sensible and mature debate” on the independence question. What was not reported was that he went on to call me a “big knobby” shortly after. I responded by saying “I know you are but what am I,” and the sensible and mature debate continued from there.

The question itself, ‘Do you agree that Scotland should be an independent country?’ is clearly biased in favour of a Yes vote and is unacceptable. Everyone knows it should be biased in favour of a No vote. And it’s the wrong question anyway because it should really be something like ‘Do you believe in life after love?’ and preferably asked by Cher.

Look, here’s what I’m saying. If Scotland turns down independence we can discuss a further devolution settlement. For example, in the event of a No vote, Scotland could be allowed to stay up after bedtime. In sufficient numbers, we could be talking ice cream and jelly.

Your leader.

Better Together – Except for Viewers in Scotland

July 15, 2012

This is your leader speaking. I’m here to welcome you to Better Together, the anti-independence campaign for people like you and I who believe having an upside-down smile counts as positivity.

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Given that the subjects of Band Managers and Elvis Presley had been at the forefront of my thoughts recently, it was only natural that both would infiltrate my dreams. Natural for me anyway, which admittedly isn’t particularly natural.

I was going to relate last night’s nocturnal madness here, but then I remembered how tedious it was listening to other people’s dreams. And if it was tedious listening to theirs, it was likely to be more so listening to mine. So I thought of another way of describing it, as I know you have the attention span of gnats.

You are about to leave the black and white confines of this interminable journal and enter a new, technicolour world peopled with extraordinary characters and talking inanimate objects. A bit like The Wizard Of Oz, but not as plausible. Are you ready? Then let’s begin..

When I came back with the drinks, poor Elvis was distraught. But by then, I was waking up and returning to my black and white world. I remembered that the ghost of Elvis Presley didn’t really roam the earth and that potatoes, with a few exceptions, don’t make good band managers.

My Technicolour World

March 1, 2012

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