Aye or Naw

Right, here we go.  After months of debate, debate bordering on ill-tempered bickering and countless hours of political pundits banging on endlessly with ill-informed speculation and scare-mongering, the Scots are voting on independence.  Every single Jock seems to have registered to vote and is off to the polls.  A high turnout is expected and of course 16 year olds have the vote, which is either inspiring or terrifying depending on which sort of 16 year olds you know.

So, obviously, I’ll be staying up all night.

This requires a strategy.  The last time I stayed up all night I was in my teens and was at a party and there were girls and everything.  Actually, that’s not quite true, the last time was probably travelling, on an aeroplane where free booze brought to your seat and free movies made sleeping something of a waste of time.

This time it’ll be something of a long haul.  The results are going to take even longer than bloody Eurovision.  And coverage starts at half ten, meaning the BBC coverage (always the best pundits and coolest graphics, and the presenters always get a little crazed around mid-morning) is going to consist of at least a few hours of speculation, recapping and desperately filling.

First up, a quick trip to Waitrose.  Obviously what’s required are snacks that will slowly and evenly release sugar throughout the night.  But sod that, nobody’s interested in virtuous flavours at the turning of the tide, so it’s crisps, and, oh my God I can’t believe it, a Ginsters pasty – the perfect three-in-the-morning hot snack, as when microwaved to perfection (nuked to buggery) it transforms into something akin to a phenomenon studied by vulcanologists and would certainly wake you up if you ate it before letting it cool.  Which takes a while.  It’s the only snack with a half life.

But mostly, let’s celebrate the fact that for the first time in a decade I’m able to have a cup of tea after six o’clock without worrying that it’s going to keep me up all night.

Crisps.  Chocolate.  A mango.  Put mango back.  Sorted.

22:30  Telly on.

22:32  Kettle on.

22:45  First chance to see how the BBC graphics boffins have risen to the challenge and it appears they have gone somewhat bonkers, with a huge graphic of a nuclear submarine seemingly navigating the depths of the news room.

22:48  A whistle-stop tour of the counting centres.  Scotland appears to be very well provisioned with sports halls.  Ironic given the health of the nation.

22:56  Oh Christ, looks like Jeremy Vine’s strategy has been to drink a shed load of pro-plus laced coffee.  Cool graphics though, got a whole 3D thing going on.  Looking forward to exhausted graphic technicians going doolally with exhaustion later on and really getting creative – ‘Let’s take a look at the results so far with the result represented as a caber being tossed’.

23:01  An expert has just announced that ‘More votes will take longer to count’.  Genius.

23:04  Montage!  Proof that even a Primal Scream soundtrack can’t make politicians look cool.

23:14  Oh shit, it’s a people’s panel made up of folk who didn’t get an invite to a referendum party.

23:30  Quick break for news headlines.  All presenters rush to the loo at the same time for a wee and a wee line.

22:35  Over to Westminster.  Andrew Neil co-presenting with a truly appalling hairpiece, no wonder this bloke only goes on after the watershed.  Luckily John Redwood is also on the programme and so Neill appears normal by comparison.

23:41  Huw Edwards is reminding us that Scotland is a ‘rural’ country and there are ‘logistical challenges’ to transporting a box to a sports hall.  Luckily, it would appear that the Scots have access to vans.

23:44  Leader of Scottish Conservatives looks quite a lot like ‘Scots funnywoman’ Susan Calman.  Suspect they have the same tailor.

23:45  BBC ticker declaring that Queen is following the vote closely.  I bet she’s having a party.  Wonder if she is serving Ginsters?

23:46  Apparently Glasgow normally has a low turnout, but having a say in the future of your nation, and putting polling stations in branches of Greggs, appears to have greatly increased turnout.

22:55  Cool graphic of a helicopter, representing Scottish Army.  Given state of defence cuts, presume this helicopter will be shared with England, with Wales getting it at alternate weekends.  Rotors spinning and everything.  Look forward to the helicopter strafing the newsroom later.

00:10  Now well past time would normally be in bed.  Usually midnight means New Year’s Eve, and ten past midnight means finishing the last of the fizz, saying ‘fireworks were good, Hootananny was shit…again’ and going to bed.

00:13  Ooh, have discovered ‘Trendsmap’ on the interweb.  Essentially this works out who is tweeting what where and puts it on a map.  It’s fascinating.  In Scotland you have a lot of #Yes and in the West of England, you have a lot of #Thunder and #Lightening.  Thank God for the English’s preoccupation with discussing the weather, it means you can track bands of thunderstorms in real time.  Also worth watching just to see if suddenly loads of hashtags along the lines of ‘Aliens’ or ‘Invasion’ pop up.

00:21  First interview of the night with bolshie Welsh person, who also wants more power.  Yea, right.  Like that’s going to happen.

00:45  Andrew Neil up again.  Of course, his normal programme is on so late it’s almost early, so he’s used to napping through the afternoon and appearing chirpy well after ‘Newsnight’ has finished.  He has a boffin on who is saying that there will be huge changes no matter what the result, and that there will need to be a lot of work done on the constitution.  Oh, he’s a constitutional expert.

00:53  Jeremy Vine is standing in front of a graphic titled ‘Battleground’.  You can just tell that everyone involved is already gearing up for the 2015 election.  Speculation starting to resemble desperation.  Fill.  Waffle.  And shout ‘Count faster you bastards’.

00:57  Edinburgh count appears to be taking place in an aircraft hanger.

00:59  Which of the workers in the high-viz vests in the background at the count is going to do something amusing and become a social media star?  My guess is the girl doing the dance moves.

01:00  BBC have apparently dispatched all of their reporters around Scotland.  The chap in Orkney is, judging by the fleece he’s wearing, is BBC Scotland’s rugby correspondent.  On radio.

01:05  Reporter in Midlothian is talking about ‘social factors’, classing people as posh if ABC, moving steadily into working class with D and E.  Something tells me that Glasgow doesn’t bother much with the first bit of the alphabet.  Reporter doing a really good job and seems very posh, obviously pitching for her seat on the BBC news copter back to London if there’s a ‘Yes’ vote and Scotland’s national broadcaster goes from being the BBC to being a bloke with a bell and a loud voice.

01:20  Huw releases the panel, who were all actually insightful, measured and charming.  Huw has promised them ‘something a little stronger than herbal tea’.  Boozing on the License Fee.  Excellent!  Must be massive temptation to try and drink the value of your Fee and pocket any BBC pens you can get your hands on.

01:27  Clackmannanshire result is in.  And it’s a No!  More importantly, how cool is the name ‘Clackmannanshire’?

01:28  Footage of celebrations at ‘Yes’ HQ show quite a few bottles already open, and LOADS more lined up ready.  Pace yourself chaps.  Luckily, the Scots are famously abstemious.

01:39  Jeremy Vine has a bloody huge map of Scotland that is apparently filling the newsroom.  It’s on a scale of the sort of map that a Bond villain would use to plot the destruction of the nation’s haggis industry.  Clackmannanshire is flashing red.  Jeremy then goes on to explain that the area is populated by members of the ‘DE’ social class.  Possibly this means that they have heard that if you vote ‘No’, Westminster will give you all sorts of goodies and are holding out for a Greggs gift card for every man, woman and child.  Areas populated by As and Bs will expect to get a Waitrose.

01:50  Oooooh, flash of lightening and roll of thunder.  Drama in the skies as well as on the telly.

02:01  Orkney declares.  It’s a HUGE NO!  Loving the bit where they read out the different categories of why certain ballots can’t be counted.  BBC always cut away from speaker before he gets to category of ‘crudely drawn cock’ on ballot.  Shot of No! HQ celebrating result.  Everyone looks marginally more refreshed than they did the last time.  I don’t need fancy graphics to illustrate a continuing trend of young people, excitement and alcohol meaning the only sort of political party that is agreeable.

02:07  Guests on BBC all look remarkably kempt.  Think the same people are doing a circuit of teevee shows.  Suspect those doing radio shows might be a little more casual.  But would love to see a guest turn up in PJs and dressing gown, possibly clutching a favourite soft toy.

02:21  After two o’clock, things are starting to get a little bit more relaxed.  First OB from a ‘Yes’ party, where the BBC journo is sporting a party shirt and begins by explaining that there has been stand-up and poetry!  Very nice too.  I hope the producer says that they’ll be going back to him at 6:00, so he can’t start in on the Babycham yet.

02:25  Jeremy Vine is explaining that people from lower social classes are more likely to vote for independence.  Presume this means UKIP will be courting the chav vote.

02:42  Andrew Neil appears to have a twelve year old as a guest.  Who appears to have modelled himself on Nick Robinson.  Thunder and lightening over Houses of Parliament in the background looks spectacular in HD, whereas Mr Neil most certainly does not.  Nothing wrong with wearing make-up on telly, but when it looks like it needs not so much touching up as reapplication with a trenching tool, maybe a rethink is needed.

03:43 Shetland says No!  Ponies love the union.

02:49 Huw is a bit bloody familiar with using first names, if you ask me.  Calling Michael Gove ‘Michael’ is just, well, unnatural.  This is the BBC, he should be addressed as ‘Mr Gove’ or ‘Twatty’.

03:00 Eilean Siar votes…who bloody knows, they’re speaking Gaelic.  Oh, English now.  And it’s…NO!  Something of a surprise.  Could No! pull off a clean sweep.  Let’s see those figures expressed as a wicker man.  Eilean Siar sounds like a folk singer whose music is used in a John Lewis Christmas ad.

03:14  Good to see that UKIP remain true to form, the bloke from UKIP speaking to Huw is a total bloody foaming-at-the-mouth nutter and, bonus, rude too.

03:33 Inverclyde declares.  And it’s…No.  Just.

03:35  Half three and the snacking is going well.  Ginsters is still in the fridge rather than the microwave.  But have discovered a cup a soup at the back of the cupboard.  Past the three o’clock hump, closer to dawn than dusk last night.  Tension draining out of coverage though and people are trying to move the story on already to what comes next, as that involves England.

03:51  Renfrewshire says…No!  79 rejected ballots, reasons muted again but ‘used to wipe arse’ has to have happened at least once.

03:53  Dundee bloke reading out spoiled ballots first.  Builds tension.  Dundee vote for independence.  If necessary, one gets the feeling Dundee will go it alone!

04:06  West Dumbartonshire says fucking AYE!  Pundits now back pedalling.  Lots of talking about working together as ‘Team Scotland’.  No footage of SNP headquarters.

04:09  Midlothian says No, no independence please.  No! party really looks like it’s hotting up.  Cheering, drinking, embraces.  It’s swung No, experts reckon we can all pack up and go home.  Cup-a-soup tasty, but with that oddly gritty texture you get from packet soups.

04:14  East Lothian says Naw!  Big win for the no campaign.  Also lady reading out the results very well turned out for past four o’clock in the morning, possibly rightly thinking this is her big chance auditioning for job involving standing up and talking on telly, weathergirl, lottery ball girl or something to do with Countdown, or at least a regional quiz show.

04:16  Stirling says NO!  Stirling also has least imaginative backdrop.

04:29  Falkirk says No!  Lady reading results is a stranger to hairspray.  Meanwhile back in the studio the politicians are having a bit of a bicker.  Past four o’clock, it’s an effort to stay civilised.

04:25  Jeremy Vine finally has some stats to render in graphic form.  Lots of coloured boxes.  Possibly after the vote this could be used in the gameshow the lady earlier was auditioning for.

04:28  Angus says No!

04:29  Dumfries is a ‘hefty’ no.  So, that’s a NO then.

04:32  East Renfrewshire have a backdrop with windfarms on it.  And they say no.

04:33  East Dumbartonshire go no.  Aberdeen go no too.  Huw keeps speaking to pundits, then cutting them off as the picture jumps to another sports hall with, if we’re lucky, a coloured backdrop.

04:46  North Lanarkshire go yes!  Creeping sensation that the yes campaign are now playing for pride.

04:47 Perth and Kinross lady go no!

04:52  Glasgow!  Here we go!  Glasgow go yes!  Glasgow wants to be independent from the UK.  Scottish Borders go no though.  West Lothian vote no.

05:01  North Ayrshire goes no.  Feeling very close to Huw and the team at the BBC.  We’ve sat up through the still watches of the night without any sustaining booze.  Well, Huw may have been sneaking a dram or two, but it’s been tea and cup-a-soup here.

05:05  South Ayrshire are a no.  Woman reading out the numbers does not like cheering.

05:09  East Ayrshire.  No.  Apparently this is a surprise to the pundits.  The pundits keep banging on about communities with high levels of depravation equalling voting for independence.  No formal link between desire for independence and aversion to vegetables made yet.

06:33  It’s getting light outside.  It’s all over, and it’s a No from the Scottish public.  The newscaster doing the short news bulletins throughout the night on BBC News 24 must have thought it was her lucky day, instead of having to read out the same bit of rolling news every half hour for half and hour and then start all over again, she basically did the headlines and then, presumably, had a nap for 25 minutes while Huw did his thing.  Some grainy still pictures of Alex Salmon being whisked away somewhere in a car and private jet, he actually looks like a foiled Bond villain.

6:38  Time for bed.  Question is, should I have a cheeky beer first?

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.

Iain Banks - ‘Troubled teens, turbulent atheists and really, really big guns’

It's been a year since Ian Banks passed.

Did he not get the memo?  His job was to turn out two books a year, one science fiction, the other of a genre of his choosing, until further notice.  Unfortunately it would appear that the universe had other ideas.

I bloody loved his books.  How does one judge what one’s favourite book is?  How about the number of times tou have re-read it?  Or how much you identify with it?  Or maybe you just happened to read it at a special or important moment in your life?  Or maybe reading the book was the special or important moment in your life.  Certainly, my copy of ‘Espedair Street’ looks well loved, as does my copy of ‘The Crow Road’.  Knowing that there are not going to be any new novels published, I’m going to have to slow down on the re-reading.

And god how I loved the sci-fi stuff.  Science fiction as it should be, with spaceships the size of, well, huge space ships, sardonic robots with loads of ordinance packed away in them, and proper aliens, and cool weapons and robots too.  There was probably some stuff in there about using the art form to examine the human condition but fuck that, I’ll save the introspection for the re-read.

I even loved ‘Raw Spirit’, where Banks essentially drives around distilleries, takes the tour, loads up his boot with scotch and, as far as I can work out, bills the lot to his publisher and writes it off against tax as ‘research’.  Cheers!  There’s probably more to it than that  but I’ll save it for the re-read.

I’ll miss Iain Banks.  I met him a couple of times at book signings and, despite the fact he was hugely popular and had probably been signing books for sweating fanboys like myself for days if not weeks, he had great charm and always seemed flattered that somebody was interested in his writing, and wanted a book signed.  And a hardback at that!

Cultural vandalism

Scottish food is not just a load of stodge in a polystyrene container.

Scottish cuisine has, shall we say, something of a reputation for not being the healthiest in the world.  Maybe, but if you've spent the day staggering in a blizzard through the gloaming looking for a stranded coo or bewildered hiker, a dinner rich in radish is not going to cut it.  Ideally, you want something rich in fat, grease and wobbly bits that go crunchy when fried.  Even if you work in an office and live in Glasgow.

But is it as bad as all that?  

The Canadians think it's worse.  It's reported that they have outlawed a wide variety of British foods, such as marmite, but also the fabulous Scottish beverage Irn Bru, which is either a fizzy, tasty and refreshing drink, or a vile cocktail of artificial colours and flavourings just not found in nature, or food shops in North America, apparently - but are found in chemical weapon factories in angry countries, and Scottish corner shops.

It's not like Scotland can hit back in some sort of tit-for-tat trade war.  Canada bans Irn Bru and so Scotland bans, er...well, I'm sure there's a Canadian export that could be targeted.  Obviously not any kind of alcoholic produce.  Moose? Do they export moose?

As far as I can determine Canada's chief exports seem to be belligerent people with French accents and comedians who pretend they are American so that they can get a career in Hollywood.  So that appears to be it, if they ban our Irn Bru, we introduce strict prohibitions on Rick Moranis.

It's also served on fine china.

You'll have had your tea

Myths persist for three reasons.

Firstly, repetition.  Repeat something often enough and it will gain, if not credibility, then at least popularity or even notoriety.  The great thing about the repetition of a myth is that it can be done by people who have not even heard the original source material, but wish to confirm something in a manner that indicates they are privy to information others are not.  For instance 'I hear the Pope has six toes on each foot'.  'Ooooh, yes, I heard that too.' and so on.

Secondly, the myth is something we want to believe.  Alien life visiting our planet and fumbling with yokels' trouser parts is a far more interesting belief to hold than, say, we are alone in the universe and even if alien life did visit, it wouldn't try to touch us up because we are such a repellant species.

Thirdly, it's credible.  There could be an undiscovered creature living in the Himalayas.  There could be a dinosaur swimming in Loch Ness.  Haggis is a Highland creature.

The fabled 'Pyramid of haggis'.  

If there's a better way to display tinned haggis, it's yet to be invented.

Let's be quite clear, haggis is not an animal found in the Highlands of Scotland, it's a mixture of offal and meat, like a big spicy sausage.  If the haggis were an animal, I would imagine that it would not come in a vegetarian option.  I may not be a qualified vet, but I'm not aware of any animals that are actually vegetables.

Haggis does however, taste exactly like the meat of an animal that lives a very rough life in the Highlands of Scotland, subsisting on a diet of heather, rain, granite and the occasional lost hiker.  If Haggis were an animal, then hunting season would be early January (of course they're hunted in the wild, whoever heard of intensive haggis farming?), to adorn the plates of diners on Burns Night.

Robert Burns's verse on the side of the Scotish Parliament building.  

If you're verse adorns the side of a Parliament building, you are a national treasure...

or possibly a little sod with a spray can who styles himself a 'graffiti artist'.

Today is the anniversary of the birth of Robert Burns, arguably Scotland's greatest poet.  Arguably the United Kingdom's greatest poet if you consider having the poet's verses reproduced on tea towels as a measure of fame.  Without doubt the worlds greatest poet if you measure fame by having a dinner named after you - take that Shakespeare, Thomas and Yeats.

It's Burns Night tonight.  All over the country people will be dusting off their best tartan biscuit tin, downloading a verse or two from the Internet, calling potatoes 'tatties' and using the celebration of the birth of a gret poet to drink a lot of scotch.

There is, apparently, a right way to partake of a Burns supper.  This involves, depending on your means, a piper, or some recorded pipe music (bag, not pan).  It also involves many, many toasts and an address to the haggis which is, apparently, the great chieftain of the pudding race (coming as a surprise to all those who thought that was rolly polly and custard).

This example of Scottish cuisine can be enjoyed any night of the year.

The problem is when you enjoy it every night of the year.

It's also the one day a year when Scottish cuisine is enjoyed.  The rest of the year Scottish cuisine is merely feared and respected in equal measure.  The world over, people eat traditional Scottish fare, neeps, tatties and of course haggis.  Well, let's be honest, people eat what they think is traditional Scottish fare.  If people were tucking into traditional Scottish fare then, in my experience, dinner tables would largely feature a double portion of chips liberally soaked with saltandsauce, washed down with Irn Brew.

It's easy to knock Scottish cooking.  And it's fun too.
And unfair.  I bloody love Scottish cooking and I think it's wrong that it gets ridiculed.  True, Scottish people do like hearty food, leaning towards the meaty, and well cooked.  Stews, mince and flat sausage all pander to the 'if it's brown, wolf it down' sensibilities of the Scottish palate but it's unfair to knock exotic items like the deep fried mars bar - if Heston had come up with that, it would be hailed as a work of genius and possibly even 'witty'.
Certainly, I'll be tucking into my haggis and probably partaking of a dram or two.  Cliche?  Possibly, but also an opportunity to toast the great man who wrote 'my love is like a red red rose' and 'Tam O'Shanter', poetry which, like Scottish cuisine, deserves celebration.