Sketch: John Swinney preaches to the choir

In a former church in central Edinburgh, John Swinney is busy preaching to the choir. It’s exactly one year to go until the next Holyrood election and the SNP leader is entering full campaign mode. That starts with revving up his base.

“Scotland has what it takes to be a successful independent country,” he tells the congregation. He is praying for the second coming of the independence referendum. Sadly, that is not something that can be handed down from the heavens. It must be blessed by Westminster. But Swinney is hoping for a miracle: that Keir Starmer will have a revelation (sparked by an SNP victory) about agreeing a section 30 order.

The I-word has been something of a taboo for the first minister since his party’s drubbing last summer, when the pledge to put it page one, line one of the manifesto resolutely failed to attract enough votes. But now in a safe space, surrounded by his flock, he tentatively places his deepest desire back on the table. There shall be no judgement year. No yucking of other people’s yums.

Independence is, he says, how to combat alienation. It is how to “overcome Westminster’s wall of despair”. “We are listening,” he insists to any swithering voters, a phrase which might have some meaning if it were coming from anyone other than the literal first minister of the country. Has he not been listening until now?

He says his party will stand on its “record of delivery” next year, while “Labour will be standing on their record too”. So which record is better – two decades of ‘meh’ versus two years of ‘bleurgh’? Perhaps that is why the church windows are covered in black cloth, blocking out anything which might actually shed some light on this important question.

Keith Brown had earlier praised the FM for being a man who will “deliver what he says he will deliver”. And to be fair, when you look at the recent programme for government… well, let’s just say it’s easy to deliver what you’ve promised when you’ve promised zip.

After that, Mairi McAllan had said the last ten months have proven that “when it comes to Westminster, the more things change, the more things stay the same”. And so voters should not change a thing in Scotland, which will help things not stay the same, I guess. McAllan insists Swinney is the “antidote”, which doesn’t at all sound cult-like, and her party is one that “delivers progress not platitudes”. And, without a hint of irony, adds it also “offers hope not hate”.

Of course, the first minister has his trump card. The UK version of the Trump card. “It is no longer fanciful and deeply regrettable to suggest that Nigel Farage could be prime minister in a few years’ time,” he warns. The pied piper of UK politics has the UK Government “dancing to [his] tune”.

“Nigel Farage may not be in office, but he’s very much in power,” Swinney says. And that’s why he doesn’t “just want to win”, but he wants to “shift the tectonic plates”. Is that what they mean when they talk about a political earthquake? Presumably Swinney just wants to put a big crack between Scotland and England, get some seafloor spreading going to put an ocean in the way of a possible Reform-ation.

Elsewhere, Russell Findlay claims all of this is in fact highlights Swinney’s “dirty little secret”. His hidden shame. His private kink.

Speaking from a swanky penthouse suite, the Scottish Tory leader claims the first minister gets his thrills from Farage and Reform. “Publicly he pretends to despise them. Privately he adores them,” he says, much to the delight of gathered supporters.

And no wonder, he continues, when Farage is apparently showering the SNP with gifts. Well, one gift. “Another five years in power,” he warns. All wrapped up with a nice little turquoise bow.

Findlay would never be caught handing Swinney a present. “If you want to know the difference between me and Nigel Farage, that’s it,” he explains. Is that… the only difference? He doesn’t elaborate any further, instead moving on to crow about how his party would not help asylum seekers.

Over on the other side of the country, Anas Sarwar is addressing a small side room in a former town hall. He is still desperately clinging to his dream of replacing John Swinney as first minister, repeating his previous line about this being a “straight choice” between Labour and an opponent. Yet with barely any MSPs bothering to turn up to his event, it seems he’s having a difficult time even convincing the most loyal supporters.

The choice is me or Swinney, Sarwar insists. Red or yellow. Rose or thistle. “The SNP who broke our NHS or the NHS dentist that will do whatever it takes to fix it,” he screams into the void, ad nauseum.

Only 12 months more of this to go…