IT IS my convinced opinion that we must stand together in union with England, under the British flag. Scotland is too small to go it alone. We lack the talent and are not strong enough to stand up for ourselves in a world that so often despises the best efforts of Britannia, never mind Scotia herself.
Yes, my friends, you can put away your idealistic dreams and your strapping talk of "independence". For when it comes to the Eurovision Song Contest, we must stand together with our English neighbours, united against the shame that participation i
n such unmitigated bilge brings to any nation or conglomeration of same.
If you've a gast about your person, be prepared to flabber it vigorously, as I investigate the European Broadcasting Union's decision that Scotland may enter the above-mentioned tacky tomfoolery as an independent competititor. So it has come to this. Is this what William Wallace envisaged when he shouted, "Freedom! Ouch, careful with these tongs!", in the controversial documentary, Braveheart? I think not. They will not give us our freedom but they let us enter the Eurovision Song Contest. It's enough to make a grown Scotsman reach into his sporran for a tissue with which to weep.
It's 40 years since a Scottish woman disgraced herself by winning the wretched croonathon for Britain. Inspired by Nietzsche, Lulu's Boom Bang-a-Bang wowed the judges, who overlooked the glaring anatomical inaccuracy of its lyrics. Put the children in another room while I bring you this excerpt: "My heart goes/Boom bang-a-bang, boom bang-a-bang/When you are near/Boom bang-a-bang, boom bang-a-bang/Loud in my ear."
I will give you a few seconds to wipe away any vomit you may have found yourselves involuntarily expending. To resume, recent years have seen Britain do badly in the contest. Even last year's entry failed miserably, despite being performed by a "camp dance-routine group" called Scooch. I'd have thought they'd have been dead certs, though I wouldn't have put money on it (I only bet on creatures that leave large amounts of dung all over the place; during the last election, I put a fiver on Labour). In 2003, the British entrants, Jemini, received the coveted "nul points".
Many Scots look to Ireland as an inspirational independent country. But consider this: for the forthcoming competition, Ireland is thinking of entering a puppet called Dustin the Turkey. We cannot allow ourselves to go down a similar road.
But if the idea causes problems for those of us who would see Scotia free, what does it do for the Patriots for London Rule? On the one hand, they fear this will bring us one more inch towards the gouging, wrenching, tearing and de-Velcroing of Scotland away from the United Kingdom. Scotland's entry will be – and you may imagine the following word in Gothic script – separate. How frightening.
On the other hand, it's just the kind of irrelevant pap they could support with over-the-top patriotic pretence, the same as they do with sport and so forth, to divert attention away from their constitutional treachery. But this will not do.
On this occasion, we stretch out the hand of co-operation to our bizarre, self-hating brothers, the Cannae Scots, who say we cannae go it alone as a nation.
On this issue, if on no other, let us agree that is the case. Let us stand solid in union with Englandshire, entering the Eurovision Song Contest together, spreading the shame among 55 million rather than five million. To adapt slightly the words of Lulu: "Rule Britannia/Marmalade and jam/Five Chinese crackers up your jacksie/Bang, bang, boom, boom, bang".
Houses, houses everywhere and nary a turnip in sightSO IT has come to this. Property prices around the Findhorn Community have soared. This surely must end the hippie dream.
Once, in the Moray Firth's spiritual haven, it was all about growing humungous turnips and seeing visions of Pan hopping hither and yon. Now the main question is: fixed or variable mortgage?
A spokesweirdie said: "People move here because they feel strongly about the environment." Yes, so strongly that a group was formed to build houses on nearby land.
And, while this did not directly involve the Findhorn Foundation itself, there's still a fundamental flaw here. These well-meaning souls tried opting out but failed to heed the warning: beware of estate agents bearing joss-sticks.
Frozen genitalia in a cultural melting pot?THE Chinese are having the Year of the Rat, telling us it's a wonderful wee beastie (to eat), while here horrified guesstimates suggest 80 million of the unhygienic rodents are wandering aboot willy-nilly.
This highlights our cultural differences. I first became aware of these when part of a group of young people invited to celebrate Chinese New Year with some Oriental friends. We took beer, they laid on food. Among our number was a chap whose habit was to take off his clothes and mingle normally, drinking Double Diamond with pinkie elegantly raised. This was fine, until one of the Chinese laddies produced a set of darts. His smiling indication towards a board was academic, as we conceived instead the idea of trying to get the missiles to stick in the naked chap's buttocks.
Then someone produced a small, portable freezer into which it was planned to place the fellow's genitalia. Until that evening, I'd entertained prejudiced ideas about the Chinese and food hygiene. These were quickly dispelled, and the freezer was quickly removed back to the kitchen, where another of our number was caught adding cannabis to the egg foo yung.
As drink took its toll, we investigated the rest of the flat and found an impressive stash of pornography in the Christian's room. This was duly distributed to the lieges. However, it was his collection of model military aircraft that really took our attention. It transpired these flew poorly, and I remember with sadness now his agitated attempts to catch them. One or two – let's face it, all of them – got broken, though we attempted repairs, which led to at least one pilot sitting on the wing of his machine.
What larks. To us, it was just another evening oot. To them, it was a horrible nightmare, and I see now that what seems to us perfectly normal behaviour is considered odd, and even offensive, in their culture.
The full article contains 1087 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
