Rab McNeil
Full of hot air 28 May 2009  AH, the heat, Mr McCarruthers! Parliament was positively wilting on the last Thursday of term. The Holyrood building, as most taxpayers know, is a modern one and, consequently, it is not possible to open a window in it. Blinds had been pulled down on the Arthur’s Seat side of the Chamber, leaving it in a subdued light, all the better for the dark deeds contemplated therein. Indeed, the only windows left unshaded are those by the press gallery, ever a source of light and its concomitant, goodness. But the press gallery, like the public galleries, is set above the debating floor and, with all the hot air rising from there, temperatures in these areas rose and the lieges were seen to sweat copiously. I don’t do heat. Heat hates me, and I’m not very fond of it either. In particular, I suffer from a condition called rosacea, which makes me avoid crowded rooms, because I cannot breathe and my coupon turns to the hue of a guilty tomato. It’s one reason I tend to avoid FMQs, when the big beasts of the jungle arrive and fill out the press gallery, which remains empty the rest of the time (apart from Joe and his redoubtable team from the Press Association, who have their own windowed gallery off to the side). For the Hootsmon parliamentary sketch, I prefer the morning debates anyway, because of the startling array of characters that make themselves available for gentle lampooning. With FMQs, it’s the same four characters every week and, while these may be of the brightest and most upstanding nature, there’s a bit of a Groundhog Day feeling to the whole thing. It’s also very bitter and angry. You get more laughs during the other debates. Sure, you get folk losing the heid – these are among the most amusing moments one witnesses – but you also get levity, wilful eccentricity, horrible errors, stuttering, sputtering, dribbling, wibbling and irreverence that borders on the mutinous (as least when Kenny Gibson [SNP] is on the premises). But, as I say, on that last Thursday morning before the Easter recess, we were all melting away in the heat. Even the security guards had doffed their jackets. I’d already taken mine off, which was a bit embarrassing. Ever since the credit crunch began, I’ve been unable to afford new shirts, and the one I was wearing that day only had one sleeve (I lost the other when trying to feed David Whitton [Lab] a peanut). In the chair, deputy presiding orifice Trish Godman had presciently brought a proper fan and proceeded to use it assiduously to stroke her coupon with gently zephyrs. But the ignorant public could not have predicted the tropical conditions indoors, and many of them ended up leaving early – or, at least, that was the excuse that they gave. Why, oh why (and if you feel inclined to add another “oh why”, in keeping with tradition, feel free) can they not have airconditioning in the place? The Americans are a wonderful, advanced people, who invented air-con and use it everywhere. To folk like me, air-conditioning is a boon. One hears all sorts of trendy complaints against it, but air conditioning is the berries! Alas, in Scotia, with its horribly over-heated interiors, every expense is spared when it comes to the comfort of the lieges. Perhaps, the Parliament does have some sort of air-con, or at least some means of sluicing out the stale air, but I’ve never discovered it. My image that Thursday was of some malevolent jannie feverishly stoking a boiler to get his own back on the uppity politicians in their fancy suits. I don’t remember it being as bad as this when Parliament sat in greater dignity and splendour on the Mound, at the trendy top of the Royal Mile, rather than in Holyrood at the dowdy bottom, with its unruly neighbours, such as the Queen, the Hootsmon, and the hooligans who bring you this magazine. There were hot days on the Mound, but there were also more draughts and, I think, windows that opened. I can recall Dorothy Grace-Elder (SNP), in her first speech, calling for these to be opened so that evil spirits could be let out. I hope the remaining term at Holyrood isn’t going to be so sizzling. True, it might be handy if you want to fry an egg on your ain heid. But, otherwise, it will sap the spirit and make us as lazy and feckless as the people of the Mediterranean region. Parliament calls for cool heads and even the occasional shiver. We do not expect our representatives to earn their daily bread and expenses by the sweat of their brows. In Scotland, we cannot thole the feverish and hot-headed. We are, constitutionally, a cold people in a cold country. Consequently, will someone tell the jannie to turn the ruddy heating down before the lieges start breaking the unopenable windows and running amok? Related articles: Politics and principles 3 September 2010 Hello voters 25 June 2010 Off the menu 11 June 2010 Life but not as we know it 28 May 2010 Magnetic result 17 May 2010 See all articles in this category Submit a comment |
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