Tartangeddeon

Salmond and Sturgeon may read like a wet fish order placed by an illiterate, or sound like a music hall turn, but they are, if the English ruling classes are to be believed, the most terrifying double act to come out of Scotland since ‘The Krankies’.  Together, they lead the sinister sounding ‘SNP’, an organisation dedicated to rolling back the carpet of history and making Scotland independent once again.

Anyone who has visited Scotland will be wondering what all the fuss is about.  This is a county with its own currency (ever tried to pay for something in a shop in the Cotswolds with a Scottish tenner?), its own cuisine (extensively documented elsewhere on this blog) and its own language.

But they want more.

So.

Jings!  As they say north of the border, a place that if the rumours are to be believed, you will soon need a passport, as well as the usual inoculations against scurvy and a bucket of midge-repellent, to visit.  The Scots, it would appear, are revolting.

In England (because at the moment Wales and Northern Ireland are about as noticed as Kevin in the opening reels of ‘Home Alone’) there is anger, resentment, and quite a lot of anxiety.

Anger and resentment that the Scots want to leave the Union.  Don’t these haggis chewing bastards know about all the great things that England has done for them?  For a start, we take all that filthy oil they have lying around under the North Sea and store it safely in our cars, ensuring it won’t annoy gulls.  The English also create jobs in Scotland, as I am reliably informed that the chap who mans the siren that will sound if ever there’s a problem at the nuclear weapons storage facility at the submarine base up there, is Scottish.

The anger, however, is nothing compared to the anxiety which, since I started this post, has been upgraded to fear.  There seems to be a real concern that if Scotland vote to leave the Union, this will have cataclysmic effects.  And it will.  For Scotland.  And also for a certain type of Englishman.

Scotland first.  This is a country that has an economy based, if I have grasped this correctly, on shortbread, an intoxicating spirit, and wee creepy looking dolls of girls in kilts that you purchase in plastic tubes.  Unless the Scots are sitting on a mountain of natural resources that would make the dwarves in LOTR envious, and that mountain of uranium at the submarine base doesn’t count, then surely they are better as part of a greater economic unit, that is to say, Britain.  Oil?  My understanding is that the stuff is to be found in the North Sea, rather than Scotland.

Scotland’s greatest export has always been the Scots.  Inventors, engineers and talented stand up comedians, the Scots have spread their talent round the globe, all driven by the same impulse, to travel somewhere where it’s not raining.

The English are, frankly, shitting themselves.  If you own a vast estate in Scotland the last thing you need is some ghastly native declaring independence.  Look what happened in Rhodesia.  The English gentry bloody love Scotland.  The people are lovely, the scenery is glorious and, best of all, mobile ‘phone reception is atrocious.  Once you have made your pile and bought an estate, it’s best to spend most of your time up there, standing in a river not catching fish, or roaming in the gloaming wondering where the bloody hell all the game has got to, happy in the knowledge that if you hear a bird call, it’s likely to be something you can shoot and not a txt alert.

G&P wears its Scottish heritage proudly.  Fond of haggis, overfond of the water of life and tremendously suited to a kilt.  Scotland has never fallen short of ambition.  If Scotland gains independence it will, I am sure, make a success of it and G&P will make the most of it, by getting a tartan stamp on a passport page at the very least when attending the Edinburgh Festival.

But I hope that the Scots vote to stay.  I’d hate to pay import duty on Irn Bru.