Wings Over Scotland

Let's make something clear from the off. I have absolutely no idea whether Mark Duggan deserved to be shot dead or not. If the widespread but as-yet-unconfirmed reports that he fired a gun at police are true, he's certainly got nobody but himself to blame. (EDIT: It looks very much as though they're not.)

We live in a time when the police – and especially the Metropolitan Police – will kill you for getting on a tube train or for just going about your normal everyday business somewhere in the loose vicinity of a protest march, so pointing a gun (or even something that might look a bit like one) at them would be pretty much the textbook definition of asking for it.

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Returning from the shops yesterday, I picked up an unexpected A4 envelope from the hallway by the door. Angry letters from debt collectors aren't usually A4, so I opened it. Inside was a short note from my mum saying "This isn't The Dandy as I know it", attached to something so odd that I instantly knew I had to scan it for posterity and share it with my beloved viewers.

Mums are always right about stuff.

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There are lots of great writers. Even within the professional community, let alone the general public, you’ll have a hard time getting two people to agree on who was the best ever. Was it Shakespeare? Orwell? Joyce? Sega Zone-era Jonathan Davies? The arguments echo timelessly through the ages.

I’ve got many heroes and inspirations of my own – Steven Wells, Miranda Sawyer, Barbara Ellen, Craig Kubey, Rosie Boycott, Douglas Adams and more. (Including the fictional composite entity Lloyd Mangram.)

But the greatest writer of all time is someone whose name I don’t even know, and who to earn the accolade only had to write a single word.

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I originally wrote this piece for a website recently set up by some Labour MPs and MSPs from Scotland, which had solicited contributions from supporters of other parties. The site had attracted a large amount of comments (almost all of them genuine attempts at discussion, rather than jibes) from non-Labour voters, but some readers got very huffy about this “cybernat invasion”.

Sadly, despite asking me to write the piece after I suggested it to them, they’ve declined to publish it, and the site has now taken to deleting comments from non-supporters wholesale. (I had a minor Twitter scuffle with the Labour MP behind the site last night, and he’s turned out to have a very thin skin. One of his posts on the blog was also so mercilessly shredded for inaccurate facts that its entire comments thread has now been deleted.)

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ME: Hey, iTunes! Since you’re so stupefyingly incapable of handling it properly, could you delete all the music off this iPhone so that I can put it back on from scratch, please?

ITUNES: Sure thing, Stuey! I’ll reinstall every one of the 800-odd apps on your iPhone – even though they’re all there already – right now!

ME: No, iTunes! The music! Not the apps! I didn’t ask you to do anything to the apps! There’s nothing wrong with the apps! Just delete the music!

ITUNES: Sorry, Stuey, I’m already busy reinstalling all these hundreds of apps like you asked. Be with you in about 12 hours!

ME: I really, really hate you, iTunes.

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Long-time WoSblog viewers will already be aware that I’ve embraced my gay side when it comes to Eurovision now, thanks to the simple expedient of entering into the spirit and watching it with other people. (If everyone else is even briefly out of the room for some reason I get very twitchy.)

But for those of you still struggling, here are this year’s highlights, with the minimum of campness and the maximum of ROCK!

(NB “Maximum” does not necessarily mean “a lot”.)

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… and someone is brought before me accused of cold-bloodedly murdering the developers of PC iTunes, and the prosecution presents high-definition video evidence of them in the act, and they’re arrested still carrying the brains-covered axe, and the victims have scrawled the full names, addresses and descriptions of their assailants in their own blood on the carpet with their dying breaths, I’ll still find them Not Guilty.

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A more cynical man than I has already suggested that in the event of the SNP winning independence for Scotland, the remnant UK's likeliest flag would be a thoughtful blend of those of its three surviving nations: from England the red cross of St George, and from Wales and Northern Ireland the white backdrops. LOL ETC. I think this, though, would be the obvious real solution:

But is it an issue we're actually going to have to address? Is this really the end of the Union? And what do you call the United Kingdom when it's not united any more? Let's gaze into a crystal ball, then realise we don't believe in fortune-telling and just take a rational look at the facts.

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Start from this premise: all things are possible.

You have an advantage over me, English viewers. The chances are that most of you pay very little attention to Scottish politics, so your heads probably aren't spinning like mine still is at the staggering, incomprehensible magnitude of what's just been achieved. But I'll do my best to paint you a picture.

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“…put out the streamers/It’s gonna be a good day for the dreamers.”

It won’t.

Okay, I should probably expand a little on that.

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I don't know, because I'm not going to count them. But if the latest opinion poll is correct (and it's a big "if"), the electoral map of the Scottish Parliament is going to look rather different in two weeks' time:

65 seats are needed for a majority in the Parliament, and the Greens support an independence referendum, so if these figures are accurate the possibility of Scotland seceding from the UK will suddenly get an awful lot more real. And a Tory-led government in Westminster has already seen support for independence surge by almost 50%, to level pegging with those opposed to it.

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