[vimeo clip_id=91400979 width=634 height=357]
April 8, 2014
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.
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.
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