I’m also Scottish born and bred. And right now my blood is boiling again. In the aftermath of the Independence Referendum, I’m very angry. I’m angry with the three ex-public schoolboys who lead Britain’s main political parties and whose last-minute, deceitful wheeze probably swung the Referendum result. I’m angry with the sustained, blatant anti-independence bias of the British media in its reporting of the Referendum. I’m angry with those NO campaigners who told elderly people they would lose their pensions, Polish people they would have to return home and English residents they would be chased out of Scotland if any of them voted YES. I’m angry with my English relatives, friends and acquaintances, not one of whom gave their blessing to Scotland’s quest for independence. Last and by no means least, I’m angry with those Scottish middle-class people who sought to snub the Independence Movement with its working-class roots by sneaking along to the polling stations on Thursday and furtively crossing the NO box.
In the case of that latter group, some adjectives come to mind. Adjectives I’m not supposed to use, because they might show that I’m a bad loser. Adjectives like spineless, gutless, sleekit and selfish.
Anyway, you’ll understand that my anger has many targets. So many, in fact, that it’s in danger of exploding and landing me in trouble again. To avoid that, I’ve devised my own method of anger management. I’ve decided to channel all my anger, all my frustration, onto a single target. And my chosen target happens to be the chap in the centre of the picture at the top of this post.
Let me tell you about the chap. He featured prominently in BBC Scotland’s live coverage of the Referendum results. Each time a NO victory was declared, the camera cut to a party being held for the NO Campaign, where our wee man celebrated by cheering at the top of his voice, grinning like a demented Cheshire cat and dancing a lively reel – a fucking Scottish dance, by the way – with his partner. As the NO wins mounted, latterly turning into an avalanche, the reel grew wilder and his expression more delirious. At one point, I felt like Tam o’ Shanter at Kirk Alloway watching the De’il himself jiggin’ awa.
Sadly, that image constitutes my abiding memory of the once-in-a-lifetime Scottish Independence Referendum. And that is why the despicable, hateful, little man in the picture is today the focus of all my anger. Did I also mention that he’s spineless, gutless, sleekit and selfish? Oh, dear, I’ve probably landed myself in trouble again.