And lo it was prophesied. On Tuesday St Dougie the Diminutive manifested his wee Holy Wulliness in the pages of the Guardian to preach the gospel of damage limitation. We still don’t know what currency we’re going to use, he bleateth. It’s the pound Dougie son, were you not listening to your pal Alistair last night?
But the Pharisees of Labour weren’t listening either, and told St Dougie in a vision that repeating Plan B ad nauseam was the only plan they’d got. So get out there and preach to the people that absolutely anything an independent Scotland might choose will be even shitier than having Boris Johnson as Prime Minister, share the revelation just in case anyone might think differently. Those weren’t boos from the audience when Plan B was called for, oh no, they were appreciative moans of love. Up is down and black is white and the Labour red isn’t Tory blue.
The debate came as a bit of a shock to them after the last time, when even people outside Sky Press reviews said Alistair had won and Be’Yesbezub had been sent back to the dark pit of perdition, which is just outside Paisley. Depite this, Yessatan obstinately refused to be exorcised, and before you knew it people in Arbroath were chanting verses from the wee blue book of the prophet Stu and Yes Shettleston was sacrificing chickens for a barbecue. Well OK, they were frozen drumsticks from Aldi – but that’s still evil and satanic. Anyway, in a flash of miraculous inspiration, like Johann Lamont constructing a grammatical sentence, it all became clear to the Divine Dougie. Debates don’t make any difference at all. So that’s alright then.
Go unto the Guardian and preach the word, the Archangels Ed and Ed told him. It’s all based on emotion, not at all like Project Fear. Tell them that you’re pure affrontit that some people on Twitter called you a Quisling and a Judas, and how that proves the evil divisiveness of the separatists. You’re even more oleaginous than Jim Murphy, so you’re perfect for the gig. Show them that you’re really a wee creeping Jesus and spread the numbing balm of the true word of Gord like vaseline on the bleeding haemorrhoids of the Labour party. It’s the only redistribution that Labour practises, and it can be claimed on expenses.
So Dougie tells the tiny readership of the Guardian that Scotland is in need of family therapy counselling and it’s all the fault of the nasty nationalists. After a No vote he is willing to offer his services as an emollient between the tender cheeks of a well skelpt Scottish arse and the hard and shiny lavvy paper of Westminster.
The social division is so bad that the Patronising BT Lady from the advert last night is already receiving trauma counselling from people who aren’t related to former Labour Lord Provosts of Glasgow. She doesn’t do politics because she’s a girly. No voting women only think about little things in the kitchen, little things like pencils and Paul’s leadless pencil. The No campaign wants it to stay that way. Patronising BT Lady can’t stay long though, she has to touch up the lippy and get back home to make Paul’s tea. He’s just so clueless you know, men what are they like girls – before he infects the kids with the virus of nationalism and gets rice crispies caught in his beard. Explaining independence at the same time as having his breakfast – everyone knows men can’t multi-task and weans are too stupid to think for themselves. Now everyone stop thinking. Eat your cereal.
Don’t think that the Tories believe that they can teach the poor to stand on their own two feet by cutting their legs off. And don’t think that when Labour gets into power it acts exactly the same, because the only way it can get into power is by persuading Tory leaning voters to vote for it. These are your only choices, don’t think there can be others.
Don’t think that with its limited powers, the Scottish Parliament is the clinic which is left with the victims, but all they’ve got are some bandages and plasters. Dougie wants us to complain that the doctor’s still got a packet of plasters that she’s not used, and not to do anything about the bastards with the axe. Stop thinking. St Dougie and the Patronising BT Lady want us to eat our cereal.
There are other choices. We could choose cornflakes, or Weetabix. We could choose to have a Labour party that can only get elected if it attracts the votes of SNP supporters, or Socialists or Greens, or even the last Lib Dem. A different Labour party from the one that Dougie offers. One that when it promised to help create opportunities for the poor to get out of poverty actually did that when in power. Or suffer the consequences of a Scottish electorate. Snap, crackle, pop.
We can choose an end to the tribal politics that Dougie offers. Westminster rules make that gemme a bogey. We can have a new game, a more consensual game, a fairer game. Dougie doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want reconciliation, he wants obedience to the old rules that constrict our choices. Some people say they want peace when what they mean is that they want victory.
It’s crunchy. There’s fruity bits. More jam than you’ll ever get from a Labour government. Eating cereal and thinking. Thinking it’s about power. It always is. We get spoken down to and told what we can’t do because we have no power. Holyrood is the regional branch of a subcontracted Westminster sovereignty. It gets told what to do. Dougie and Patronising BT Lady think that will still be the case if Scotland votes Yes. That’s why Dougie has no vision of the future, only fear and calls for Plan B. Dougie’s Scotland is at the mercy of Westminster’s elements and always will be.
But that will change with a Yes vote. With a Yes vote there are suddenly two sovereign bodies in the UK. The Westminster Parliament and the people of Scotland. We will have taken back the power of decision making. The power of control. The power of self-determination. Westminster tells us that means we’d become foreign. Oh right – so like an equal sovereign state that Westminster has to treat with mutual respect? Now there’s a big strawberry in the muesli.
If Scotland votes Yes, the balance of power radically shifts towards the people of Scotland. There will be independence negotiations, and Westminster is woefully unprepared for them. Who’ll be patronising who then.
Patronising BT Lady nods in agreement as she makes the tea. We’re eating our cereal and thinking.
The mental chains go snap, crackle, pop.