How many Alan Cochranes does it take to screw in a lightbulb? He doesn’t have to, he just holds up the bulb and the world revolves around him. Alan has a very high conceit of himself, and indeed the man is remarkable as the field of journalism is indeed crowded with exceedingly large egos balanced precariously upon very little talent. Competing against contenders like Piers Morgan and Kelvin Mackenzie, the Telegraph’s Scottish editor easily wins the prize for inflating oneself greater than a whoopee cushion designed for an elephantine backside, a feat previously managed only by Gordie Broon. Never in the history of newspaper opinionists has such a small mind occupied such a big head.
Alan’s just published his memoirs, coming to a remainder bin near you very soon. To save you the bother of reading them, they essentially boil down to the claim that anyone who’s anyone in Scottish Unionist politics, or UK politics, or the Pope, never does anything without first consulting Alan and benefitting from his words of wisdom. For yeah verily, seekers of union look unto the cockring, the sayer of sooths and the fount of all that is good and true,or at least Ruth Davidson. And this is why the Unionist parties are doing so terribly well these days in the affections of the Scottish electorate. No really. Alan said so.
Having won the referendum, mostly by making desperate last minute promises of vague and unspecified devomaxiness, the holiest prediction of the gaping cockring has perplexingly failed to come to pass. Alicsammin remains resolutely undownfallen. However much the cockring throws himself likes hoops in a fairground side show, the bobbing ducks of alicsammin just keep dodging the devastation that is wrought in the pages of a Tory newspaper that no one reads outside of the Morningside Endangered Species Reservation for David Mundells and Abseilers. Alan can’t understand why this should be, when all the really important people hang onto his every word like unpleasant berries on a bottom. Yet the plebby people with clean shiny bums continue to ignore him.
Far from downfalling, the Alicsammin promises to continue to be a trapped bawhair in the cockring for quite some time to come. It’s a passion killer for any warring couples thinking of conjugating in a loveless union, a guarantee of eventual divorce which is even more effective than waking up of a morning and having to look at Alan’s mug. In what was the perhaps the worst kept secret in Scottish politics since it was revealed that the Labour party isn’t socialist after all, Alicsammin has announced that he’s going to stand for the Westminster Parlie at the next General Election.
So we’ve now been told officially that the lubricant for the cockring’s outpourings is going to thrust himself into the seat of Gordon. Which is a sentence you wouldn’t otherwise get to read outside a gay porn mag. Sadly Alicsammin is not going to stand for election as the new MP for Kirkcaldy which is an immense pity because it would be so funny and dripping with ironic karma that no would be satirist would have to think of anything smart arsed to say for several months. All you’d have to do would be to say “Kirkcaldy”, and guffaw. Alicsammin is instead going to stand for the constituency of Gordon in Aberdeenshire, whose current MP, Malcolm Bruce, is a Lib Dem who’s retiring citing extreme old age and decreptitude. And he’s still only a third as old as Ming Campbell and with considerably less dry rot.
Malcolm Bruce’s would be Lib Dem successor, Christine Jardine, is fair beelin that the Alicsammin is blythely wandering in to shove her political career even further into oblivion than Danny Alexander’s. Ms Jardine does not appear to be an avid devotee of Twitter, but on her Twitter feed the vast majority of her tweets or retweets have been attacks on the SNP, or Alicsammin, or Wings Over Scotland and / or its readers rather than any positive comments on what she or her party might have done. Although to be fair that runs the risk of reminding people that Danny Alexander exists. Instead Ms Jardine has gone full out for the Labour strategy of being unable to open their gob without criticising the SNP about something. She is perhaps hoping that voters might mistake her for Magrit Curran, although it truly is a sign of the deep and indeed hopeless desperation of the Lib Dems that Magrit has become something to aspire to.
Not that things look any better for Labour. Magrit Curran’s latest master stroke is to give a speech to a bunch of Labour hacks during which she will attack the SNP for not being progressive enough. Because Labour have used this tactic before and it’s been working out so well for them. In case you were wondering, “progressive” apparently means : supporting the Iraq war, bailing out banks with public money, creating a culture of poorly paid casual jobs in which low pay and big employers are subsidised while the poor are penalised, privatisation, PPI, ATOS contracts, sooking up to defence contractors and schmoozing with nuclear weapons, and being in favour of even fewer powers being devolved to Holyrood than the Conservatives are willing to countenance. So that’s progressive in the sense of progressing ever closer to the definition of “Tory”.
The opinion polls continue to look dire for all the Unionist parties. With every new Scottish poll, the outlook is bleaker. It’s highly probable that Alicsammin will be the new MP for Gordon, and it’s highly probable that the SNP will take a majority of Scottish seats. They may very well end up with more seats than the despised Lib Dems, who are about to receive a kicking south of the Border commensurate only with the kicking they are about to receive north of it. And that could see whoever wants to form the next government of the UK – we’re looking at you, Eds Miliband and Balls – being dependent upon the goodwill and grace of Alicsammin. There’s that ironic karma again.
It’s highly probable that Alan Cochrane will live to see the Tory party, the Labour party, and the Lib Dems reduced to electoral insignificance and Alicsammin will achieve his goal of Scottish independence – not because it is the expressed and settled will of the Scottish people, but because all those Unionist party elites whom Alan fondly believes hang on to his every word are short termist idiots following moronic advice from whoopee cushions with beards. Still, at least he can commiserate with Alistair Darling over a lovely home made lasagne.