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  Rab McNeil
Rab McNeil
rabmcneil@holyrood.com
Rab McNeil

Of local interest

26 April 2010

Of local interestHASN’T it all been a bit weird in the Scottish Parliament? What do you mean, “It always is”? Oh, you mean it always is at general-election times? I see.

Yes, there’s a great big, fat general-election campaign afoot, and our lot are still banging on at the parish pump. Funnily enough, the Icelandic volcano lent a certain credibility to the Parliament, with First Minister Eck Salmond able to talk commandingly of setting up committees and so forth.

Here was a big international event, and wee, useless Scotia was convening committees to discuss it. Impressive. It was only the UK stuff that the Parliament wasn’t able to discuss.

Odd.

First Minister’s Questions has had the feeling of Stenhousemuir v Albion Rovers when Man United are playing Barcelona. Of course, plenty of people – indeed, a majority of MSPs – are happy with such a situation.

This is Scotland, not a normal country. All the same, you have to wonder at this cocooning from reality and how it affects the health of the inmates. It’s as if the building were surrounded by elephants and trumpets, and these bods were inside with their hands over their ears, saying: “La-la-la-la! Not listening!” The essential pretendiness of the Parliament is also highlighted by the fact that the same few subjects keep coming round for discussion. I wish they could talk about defence, wars, international diplomacy and so forth, instead of endless education, knife-crime, and the “historic concordat” with local authorities. I mean, it’s quite a good concordat, as concordats go, but after the twenty-eighth or twenty-ninth time of hearing about it, a small voice in your head does try telling you to smash the place up.

Maybe we should just admit that, under current constitutional arrangements, we’re never going to have that much to talk about, and should perhaps get in visiting speakers to show us slides, say, of their last trip down the Limpopo. We could have discussions about literature. Perhaps, instead of opposition debates, they could put on amateur dramatic performances, or someone could bring in DVDs and we could all watch films together.

Tory diva Annabel Goldie could be the kiosk lady, dispensing popcorn and chocolate ices.

We could bring trampolines in and force Bill Aitken (Con) to bounce up and down on them. See Baillie Bill desperately trying to hold on to his dignity as his wee baldie heid rises and falls, and a look somewhere between dismay and resignation engulfs his coupon.

You say: “You can’t have trampolines in a Parliament. It would bring the place into disrepute!” Disrepute? Bring? Into? Yes, I see what you mean. Well, what else do you suggest? They can’t keep talking round and round in circles about the same ruddy things every week.

Maybe there should be a separate category of debate: Things You Can Discuss But Can’t Do Anything About. Mind you, I think they do this occasionally, already. They’ve already discussed the war in Iraq and suchlike, but it counted for nothing and might as well have been a debating society event.

What a nutty country this is. I’ve a friend in Denmark, who keeps asking me about it, expressing the same bewilderment that others often do, and I just can’t explain it, other than to say: “We are not as other men.” The big proper election has, of course, generated much debate. Indeed, debate itself has been the subject of debate, in particular the televised variety, where the “three main party leaders” laid into each other for democratic amusement. The fact that the ruling Scottish party wasn’t represented rendered matters faintly absurd, though I cannot think that inflicting Eck on proceedings, to give a Caledonian perspective on every question, would have been fair on the English who, quite rightly, couldn‘t give a hoot. The fact that most of the debate had no bearing whatsoever on Scotland was as nothing to noble, bare-chested savages such as we. We’re used to such indignities. Spectres at the feast, that’s us; wolves round the campfires; outsiders, knaves, “them”.

I only hope I remember to vote. For all the guff in the media, elections don’t have the pizzazz on the streets that they used to.

I’ve only met one of the candidates. He was an awful nice chap and we got on famously when he came to the door. Then he said: “So, can I count on your vote?” And I said: “Don’t be absurd.” But, by and large, the campaign is conducted merely through bumf bunged through the letterbox, more than ever before, at least in my constituency, where each party keeps telling us it’s a two-horse race. I think the worst thing about modern politics is the way that mantras, slogans and “lines” are trotted out repeatedly. O, for original thought!

I’m not really a party political person. I’ve some principles, though, and award marks for family unfriendly policies, the prohibition of cycling, and the persecution of baldies.

It’s all so confusing now, though. Is baldness a devolved matter? I’d better check before casting my vote.

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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