Moments of Pleasure. Ah'm entirely suspicious... But these days no sae much, these days the kirks cannae compete, an there's no sae many folk need somewhere tae go oan a Sunday... or else they're no able... mainly that in fact... Naw, these days the auld religions are dyin, an with them the auld truths o wumman wis made fer man an this is the real body an blood o Christ, laudin the pure an castin down the heretics, aw the ritual o ceremonies o namin, o remembrancin, aw the... aye ah'm gaunnae say it, aw the men in frocks pontificatin oan whit should go oan in public places, whit should go oan in folks' private lifes, whit should go oan in folks' heids, whit passes fer acceptable discourse, an whit thinkin wis right-thinkin an whit wis wrong...
Ah'm no standin here an watchin new religions takin the place o auld religions an no sayin anythin. Who the hell is Sophia Pangloss? Who the hell is Sophia Pangloss? I have asked myself that question many times over many years, and it's a question I think needs answered at last. She is the voice in my head She is my mother speaking She was, and is, a joke She's a nobody She's a voice She is my voice She's crabbit She's witty She's a maven She's a storyteller She's a history, she's a herstory, she's a mystory... I have two voices in my head, one speaks Scots and the other English. On Twitter I originally tried to only tweet in Scots, though the English slipped through, and after the Indyref loss it thrust itself through and I lost my Scots voice for a while. My mother is my heart, you know that. Sophia Pangloss arrived in this life at the back end of last century, back in the days of "a/s/l? " Pangloss means 'all' and 'tongue' (or does it mean pang and loss..?)
In short she's a classy thinker that talks shit about anything and everything. She's a biddy that bides up a stair. She's my voice. She thinks she's funny. Bytes fae the biddy... Mibbe ah'm deid, mibbe ah'm no... Mibbe ah'm deid, mibbe ah'm no... but ah am only a character in some puir sowel's addled heid, born oot o ower much whisky an no enough guid sense, so dinnae greet, jist heave awa lads, ah'm no deid yet... or mibbe ah am... Onyway, if ah am deid, ah'm the only yin. The indyref's ower, the lies were selt an boucht, the votes cast an counted, an fer the time bein we Scots hae been pit back in oor box. Actually, we climbed in, but the point's the same, naebody's deid.
It wis a noisy battle, a messy yin, but no a bloody yin. Noo that it's ower, an we lost, oor priority is ta protect oorsels, oor kin, an oor nation. We hae tae build a wa tae defend whit's oors... The bells are tolling fiercely, And the cry comes louder in, Mothers wailing for their children, Sisters for their slaughtered kin.
All is terror and disorder, Till the Provost rises up, Calm as though he had not tasted, Of the fell and bitter cup; All so stately from his sorrow, Rose the old undaunted chief, His was more than common grief. Cast yer mind back... Jist cast yer mind back fer a meenit, tae the Sixties if ye can, an mind how different life wis, fer abody. Mind coal fires, mind men at work an wummen daein messages, or spendin an entire day washin claes, mind weans gettin hammered, mind makin parritch the nicht afore, mind... weel mind yer ain life, whit wis it like fer you personally 50 year ago? How different wis it fae the life ye hae noo? Ah'll bet, like me, it wis a different world, an no jist oan account o nae washin machines an haein tae soak yer lentils, it wis hugely different oan a political level an aw.
We were at the height o the post-war British welfare state project, we were still bein reminded daily o whit we'd been through tae get that, aulder fowk had seen real sufferin baith afore an durin the war, an how if we worked hard fer the country, through times that were hard, it wid gie us somethin that fowk really valued, it wid gie us security.. Bytes fae the biddy...: Are we hell... Somethin that's been botherin me o late, an it wis brocht tae ma mind again by the post fae Bonningtom Mill jist roond the corner fae me yesterday, lookin at the creaky an frankly undemocratic apparatus o the dyin state we find oorsels in, is a thocht ah've lang been mullin ower anent oor representation in the Palace o Fools oan the Thames. Anne lays oot the lie o the land perfectly an so ah'll no repeat her.
She refers tae oor representation as bein 59 oot o 650 MPs, or 9% oot o the entire Hoose o Commons, roughly in line wi oor population share. But that only tells half the story... See, back afore the war, Scotland sent 74 MPs tae Westminster, oot o a total o 615. By ma reckonin that's 12%. That fell efter the war tae 71 oot o 630, or 11.2%, 72 oot o 659 in 1997 or 10.9%, then doon tae the 9% it is noo. But that's Defence... Are we hell... Mission creep... Like a lot o fowk roond here ah ken next tae bugger aw aboot Mali. Ah ken where it is, like, an Timbuktu's there ah ken that, but that's it. Why we're even sendin sodjers there ah've nae idea they say they're jist gaun there tae watch, but like a lot o fowk ah'm worried that they might jist be gaun there tae watch but ye ken whit sodjers are like yince they see a fight they jist want tae join in they cannae help it it's whit they dae efter aw... so, like a lot o fowk ah'm worried aboot mission creep, aboot gettin drawn in, the mair we talk aboot the war in Mali it becomes oor war in Mali ken?
The mair we discuss it the mair real it becomes... An that's whit's pittin the Unionist neb oot o joint th'day, we're makin it aw become real the mair we talk aboot it. The mair we discuss the mechanics o how Scotland becomes an independent nation, the mair real that 'new' Scottish nation becomes...
An so they hae tae show us that road, whit it'll look like, whit's oan it? Yin last Hurrah! Here's ma take oan the Olympics, it'll be quick... Ah enjoyed watchin it, despite the smell... But then, ah cannae mind an Olympics or Commonwealth Games that ah didnae enjoy watchin. Ah like the Ceremonies wi their fireworks an human art, ah like tae see fowk winnin efter pittin in sic hard work, an ah like tae see 'ma team' daein weel. Like maist fowk ah've been able tae switch 'ma team' every twa year atween supportin a TeamGB an a TeamScotland, mainly cos ah've had nae choice.
But gied the choice, ah'd raither support TeamScotland at baith Olympic an Commonwealth Games, an soon we'll hae that choice... Of course, despite the sudden appearance o summery weather, whit sets the London Games apairt fae the pack has been the torrential doonpour o constitutional debate that's drenched us aw, soaked the airwaves an nearly drooned the competition. But here's a thing, if aw this Union-flag-wavin wis supposed tae propel us tae a 'No' vote, whit will the next twa year bring? There wis a cooncillor... (tae the tune o A Scottish Soldier) There wis a cooncillor, a Labour cooncillor, she had been oot aw day, this wis a Saturday She wis a cooncillor, this Labour cooncillor, She'd focht oan pollin day, an focht an won...
She beat the Tory, an loved tae bore ye wi tales sae spurious an mak ye furious, but noo she's silent, cos she wis violent, an lamped the long airm o the law... An she wis reelin, she wis squealin, "Ah'm a cooncillor! Ah'm a cooncillor! " An noo this cooncillor, this Labour cooncillor, who had been oot aw day an drinkin hard aw day tho nearly fallin, heard music callin, wantit tae dance away until the dawn... She hailed a taxi, doon tae the Palais, where she could dance away, an pit mair drink away but when she got there, there wis a queue there, an there the long airm o the law...
An she wis reelin, she wis squealin, "Ah'm a cooncillor! As she wis deckin him, she wis threatenin him, "Ah'm a cooncillor! Oh she wis reelin, she wis squealin, "Ah'm a cooncillor! " Whit's that smell? Whenever ah lift ma nose fae the grindstone th'noo, ah can smell the sweet scent o desperation in the air. Ah smell it in the froth surroundin the Yes campaign launch, when the Daily Record actually finds a picture o celebration oan the website as worthy o comment an criticism, ah smell it in the Olympics coverage as a harsh, vindictive, budget-slashin posh-boy government tries tae justify blawin billions oan a three-week-long sports day, but ah smell it maist keenly in this weekend's jewel-encrusted jubilee jamboree as oor establishment draws its cheeks in tightly an tries tae convince us that an unelected birthright encapsulates an represents this country tae the world.
Weel here's a thing, Elizabeth Mountbatten-Schleiswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Glucksberg-Windsor-Saxe-Coburg-Gotha-Wettin-Hohenzollern-Tak-Yer-Pick disnae represent me... Let's no be bound by oor past, let's be freed by oor future... Ah love bein Scottish... Here's a thing... Here's a thing, ah complained tae the BBC the other day, a thing ah've nivver done afore, ah had tae fill in a form an everythin. Ah did it cos ah've jist had enough o the bias that ah'm seein day in an day oot oan the telly, an if it's gaunnae characterise the next twa years ah thocht ah'd best get ma complaint in early. An this is aw aboot *that* vote in 2014 an nothin tae dae wi the cooncil elections, this wis a ban oan Alex Salmond *because* he's Alex Salmond. Ah doubt that were he still alive an were he still First Minister, they widnae hae thocht twice aboot haein Donald Dewar oan afore the Calcutta Cup. But there's a Unionist bias at play in the BBC that sees legitimisin the SNP government as a threat, tae them, an they are retreatin intae a Unionist position that plays less an less tae us Scots.
They banned Alex Salmond cos they cannae see him as representin us, as oor duly elected First Minister, they see him through a political prism, as a threat... Bank Holidays? Whit's that aw aboot? Ah wis laughin at seein that tweet go past th'day, the yin that goes, "Hey did ye hear? 4th o July is Separation Day! They celebrate it every year! " or somesuchlike... oh ah laughed... an ah wis thinkin, aye, if Independence is that bad fer a country, how come maist countries seem tae go oot their way tae celebrate their Independence Day? Ah'll Alasdair Darling them... Happy New Year!
Weel they say a New Year should hae a new start, so here's a new start fer, er, starters... Ye could say ah'm a right yin fer the Twitter, an ye widnae be far wrang, but sometimes ah jist cannae get doon aw ah want tae say in 140 characters, so here's a wee room where ah can let aff ma stays an relax, mibbe lie back oan a chaise-longues an sip sherry... Ah suppose ye could picture it as ma ain wee boudoir... Ah'll no keep ye long, usually ah cannae keep a coherent thocht gaun fer mair than a meenit, so ah'll jist post byte-sized bits o ma mind, the world as ah see it fae ma windae oan Leith Walk. Ah make nae claims tae special insights, nae special ability, position or influence, ah'm jist a biddy that bides up a stair in Leith an that's the bee all an end o it.
Ah'm no yin fer blawin ma ain trumpet fer orner, but ah dae like tae gie it a wee toot noo an then, an ma toot's as guid as the next biddy's... Here, ah've got ma ain new start tae look forrit tae this New Year. So...