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  Rab McNeil
Rab McNeil
rabmcneil@holyrood.com
Rab McNeil

Inside the madhouse

1 March 2010

“I am on record, I think, as having called for a masseuse on the premises”Might it be a good idea to have an in-shop psychiatrist at Holyrood? I’m not being facetious. I’m worried.

After all the discussion of Broon’s mental state, it has become clear that the enormous pressures on politicians must drive many to the edge of insanity, and I cannot think that would be a good thing. Actually, putting on my sketch-writer’s hat, it would be a most excellent development, furnishing me with material that would more or less write itself.

But I get quite enough material as it is, thank you very much, and am not so selfish as to wish that politicians would lose their marbles merely to provide fodder for farcehungry hacks. There are many things wrong with Broon. His big jowly face, poor posture and absurd British nationalism mark him out as a man easy to dislike. But I feel sorry for him.

In a sense, the allegations of bullying about him have only fuelled the bullying of him. I don’t know why anybody would want to be prime minister. It never, ever turns out well unless you’re, say, Winston Churchill and win wars against evil. Democracy, supposedly designed to give the people a voice, has become a sort of bear-baiting, quite merciless and cruel.

You say: “What about you, big nose? You’re always lampooning your betters.” I know, I know. And, if I’m being frank with you, I do regard most politicians as being better persons than I. They’re engaged in public service and many are fine individuals indeed. But somebody has to lampoon them, otherwise democracy might collapse. Well, that’s maybe over-egging the pudding a bit, but there are valid observations you can make in a sketch that could never be included in a straight report, with all its focus on verbiage and hooha.

Or policy, as it’s sometimes known.

Press monitoring and pressure on politicians is obviously necessary, too, but it always seems to be carried out amid such hysteria and personal vitriol. Every day is a “crisis”.

Every disagreement is “furious”. The voters are always “angry”.

America is supposedly the foremost democracy in the world, which must explain why it’s so full of mad people. I don’t just mean mad as in insane, which goes without saying, but mad as in “mad as hell”. Indeed, three-quarters of respondents in a poll of 6,400 people ticked the expression “mad as hell” for summing up their feelings.

Another recent Washington Post/ABC News poll found two-thirds of respondents were “dissatisfied” or “angry” with the US government. The same poll also found that journalists were less trusted than politicians, and I would like to deal with this important issue more fully in six or seven years’ time, in my private diaries.

Of course, at Holyrood, no one other than the First Minister and Leader of the Opposition comes under the same sort of pressure as the Prime Minister of Britainshire or the President of that America. Still, they do get it in the neck and you’d have to have the skin of a hippo to put up with the scrutiny.

So what can we do to help? The psychiatrist plan probably isn’t feasible, as the press would go bananas, as it were, since the post would be funded by – all together now – taxpayers’ money. There’s also the slight problem that psychiatry is a pile of arse.

But there are other measures we could take to soothe the wounded souls of those who seek only to do their best for us. I am on record, I think, as having called for a masseuse on the premises. This sort of thing can obviously get a bit dodgy, but public suspicions could easily be allayed by having the masseuse perform openly in the main reception area. Taxpayers would be able to see clearly that the MSP being treated still had his underpants on.

The service obviously would not be open to female MSPs but, if they were in need of relaxation, a bar of chocolate and a copy of Hello! magazine would surely suffice.

Though space in the faintly absurd Parliament building is tight, it should be possible to find somewhere to put a floatarium.

If you’re unfamiliar with this concept, allow me to explain. Hang on, I’m unfamiliar with this concept. But, as I understand it, the victim or patient steps into a coffin-sized vessel of warm, salty water, in which he – or even she – floats, while whale music is piped in for the soothing of the psyche. A lid is placed on the vessel, so normally no member of the public need see. However, it should be possible to construct models with glass sides, thus allowing the taxpayer to inspect the floating representative and vouchsafe that their money is being spent properly.

At the end of yon day, I suppose in reality the mean-spirited taxpayer wouldn’t allow any of these things. Ultimately, the politician must make his or her own arrangements to protect the old sanity, and the best I can suggest is a bottle of wine, carton of Haagen Dazs, PG Wodehouse novel and some Vaughan Williams or Count Basie on your stereophonic device. Take an hour out and tell the world to go to hell. You know it makes sense.

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


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