Wings Over Scotland

This must be a sad day for the deputy leader of the Labour Party in Scotland. After all, we’ve spent much of the last few weeks hearing how very uncomfortable Scottish Labour types are with the idea of their relatives becoming “foreigners”.

So the news that Anas Sarwar’s dad has decided to renounce being a proud Scot and return to his native Pakistan must have come as quite a blow. Our sympathies to the Sarwar family on this terrible and upsetting division. Damn separatists.

We can’t say we were especially upset late last night when the Scottish Sun revealed that Susan Boyle is anti-independence. We doubt her views, or any celebrity’s, will dramatically shape the electorate’s opinions. All the same, the unseemly haste with which the No camp leapt on the news left an unpleasant taste in our mouths.

And if you’ve ever read a tabloid newspaper or watched ITV News any time in the last four years or so, it shouldn’t be terribly hard to figure out why.

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Prolonged exposure to the unfamiliar phenomenon of sunshine appears to be getting to some on the Unionist side in Scotland today. Firstly, Johann Lamont’s spin doctor Paul Sinclair is having some sort of nervous collapse over on Twitter, seamlessly blending every piece of absurd smearing about Alex Salmond from the last couple of weeks into a single thread of tramp-in-a-bus-station lunacy.

(Summary: he’s fat, Saltires are bad, liking golf is bad, the FM is in some way similar to the popular footballing racist John Terry, and there’s even enough time to squeeze in a quick reprise of the classic “cybernat hordes forcing X off Twitter” routine.)

It’s not even today’s best breakdown, though.

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Dear “Better Together”,

Today I, a Scotsman, travelled from England to Wales to buy some Irish chocolate. This might not be possible if Scotland becomes independent. (Of course there isn’t any conceivable reason for that to be the case, but – as you know only too clearly – if you put the word “might” in front of scare stories nobody can say you’re actually lying.)

Feel free to use that one. DON’T LET ALEX SALMOND STEAL MY SWEETS.

For those of you who stubbornly STILL don’t follow us on Twitter, this is our favourite still from the trailer for Grand Theft Auto V, the latest instalment in the blockbuster series from splendid Edinburgh-based videogame developers Rockstar North.

(This is AF #54, if you’re keeping track. We know we weren’t.)

This is getting spooky now.

Scottish Labour quasi-leader Johann Lamont at FMQs last month.

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We don’t often have cause to praise the actions of Tory councillors, so allow us to take the opportunity to salute Cllr David Meikle of Pollokshields for this intervention against braying Spectator idiot (and former star of our Zany Comedy Relief section) Fraser Nelson:

Ooft! Oddly, Nelson hasn’t rushed to also claim Gordon Reid as “British”, despite his being so in just the same way Andy Murray is – perhaps because Gordon and his Dutch doubles partner in fact lost their semi-final yesterday against the top seeds.

We’d previously dismissed the complaint as a tired old nationalist chip-on-the-shoulder hobbyhorse, but it seems that – to BritNats like Nelson at least – it really IS true that sportspeople from Scotland are British when they win and Scottish when they lose.

We won’t do any more of these after this one, honest. But we couldn’t help noticing the Director Of Research for “Better Together” posting this sorry whinge of a tweet last night, unable to resist a chance to have a snipe – however petty – at the First Minister of Scotland for wishing a Scottish sportsman well on behalf of the people of Scotland:

Mr Aikman might want to poll a little wider before repeating that claim.

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Relaxing at the splendid American Museum high on the hills at the outskirts of town tonight, celebrating Independence Day on a glorious summer’s evening with a few Budweisers, a barbecue and a couple of hundred ex-pats and well-wishers.

Our turn soon.

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In the introduction to the chilling “V For Vendetta” (the brilliant comic book, not the awful movie), author Alan Moore wrote some words that have stayed with us:

“I’m thinking of taking my family and getting out of this country soon, sometime over the next couple of years. It’s cold and it’s mean-spirited and I don’t like it here any more.”

That was in 1988, and as far as we know Alan Moore still lives in Northampton. Perhaps he couldn’t think of anywhere better to go. But two pieces in today’s papers illustrate the bleak phenomenon he was talking about better than we could hope to explain, and it’s more true now than ever. You should read both of them if you want to understand modern Britain. Here’s the cause, and here’s the effect.

If you think it’s a coincidence, maybe you need to open your eyes a bit.

Blimey. We were going to write about devo-max or something this evening, but we’re more emotionally drained than Ivan Lendl after a night at Riverdance from watching that incredible Andy Murray match at Wimbledon.

With Andy playing like a blind monkey flailing at moths for the first two sets and Fernando Verdasco hitting the ball like he’d found it in bed with his wife, the tension was almost unbearable for the whole three and a half hours before a magnificent display of character and skill finally saw the No.2 seed through to the semi-final.

Luckily, the watching-through-our-fingers pain was eased just a little by the knowledge that our fellow Brits from south of the border were suffering through it along with us.

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The first minute is January to May of 2011. From around 1m 12s, the glass represents the next two years’ referendum polling. Julianne Moore plays the parties of the Union. (Jeff Goldblum is the SNP throughout.) Technically speaking nothing changes for quite a prolonged period. Positions are maintained. But something’s happening.

That’s just how we interpret the situation. We could be wrong, of course.