Rule Britannia

I can’t tell you how pleased I am to be part of Great Britain.

I really can’t.

Everyday, I wake up and wonder what I ever did to deserve such bountiful benefactors. I thank god that he saw fit to bless me with the advantages I have in being ruled by Britannia.

When I think of how too wee, too poor and too stupid we are here in Scotland I despair at how we would ever have managed as an independent nation left to our own devices.

Can you just imagine what it would have been like to have to have lived under the privileged king or queen of Scotland? Imagine having had to support a royal family and kowtow to their hangers on! It doesn’t bear thinking about. Painting all that grass green because Queen Mary or one of her descendants was popping by for a visit. Maybe even having to learn French to impress her. Hell’s bells, quelle nightmare. And all that infighting that would have been going on until her favoured legions had settled into their hierarchy? Lord Muck of Clabber Castle jostling his way into position before Tam the Bam ousted him. That would have been too much.

And as for all that clan-bitching that would still be going on! Every Cameron, Blair and Broon squabbling with each other, over who owned what, what belonged to who and whose name mattered more than the other’s. Each one claiming that they had the best interests of the Scots at heart. Desperate stuff that would have been.

Then there would have been all that awful governance malarkey to contend with. Having to decide who in the country should get what, if anything, and whether certain bits of the nation deserved more than others. Whether to build a rail service between the Highlands and the Lowlands and wondering whether to bother with the islands at all, at all. Imagine having to decide how much tax to raise to make sure we didn’t just chuck our elders in the bins that would need emptied, or working out how much it would cost to run an efficient and humane social services. That would have meant sums. Better just leaving that to the number crunchers at Westminster. Wouldn’t want us to go carrying into the wrong column and you probably need to know your times tables for some of the really hard ones. And all that arguing about priorities and scratching your head about how much to lay aside for jollies to furrin parts.

Then we would have to have talked to other folk when we got there! Dear god in Govan, we couldn’t have done that. Trade ne…go..ti…a….Sorry, you’ve lost me there. I’m just a wee Jock wi’ nae knickers tae ma name. Hence the bare arse under the kilt, I suppose. Imagine the humiliation of our accent abroad! What a riddy it would have been to send an embarrassment of a foreign representative out into that big world beyond the Borders.

Close shave with that one.

We would have to have thought about defending ourselves too. Jesus wept. That’s lamentable. How on earth has any other country in the world ever managed that one? I suppose there’s the possibility that we could have come up with some sort of workable system that would have protected us should the marauding hordes from some far flung, or nearer, parts have descended, enmasse, to steal our cattle and ravage our women. Maybe we could have had an army or something. I’ve heard they work fairly well in some quarters.

But, thank god, we don’t need too many soldiers because Britannia has very kindly lent us an enormous penile extension to scare off the non-English speaking enemy. I don’t know all that much about it, what with me being too stupid and all that, but apparently, just saying we have it ought to be enough. Maybe flashing it once in a while to flaunt its enormity. ‘Check this out, pal! Come and get it if you’re brave enough.’ That should see us alright.

I daren’t think what would happen to us if we didn’t have the deterrent of something that might work. If we wanted it to.

And it’s worth it, isn’t it? I mean, it only costs a few bob, in the big scheme of things. We’re loaded, you see.

We saved up for it. We did, you know. Britannia thought about it long and hard. Got quite excited at being first among equals and decided tally-ho.

I’m eternally grateful. You’ve no idea.

To have such a magnificent specimen of manhood parked within 40 miles of Glasgow is a turn-on beyond my imaginings. And they let us have it. I mean, how generous is that? I guess it’s because we gave them all our oil. Only seems fair, doesn’t it? Probably by the time Trident’s been upgraded it’ll work out about evens.

And it’s even providing more than five hundred jobs! That’s a big number, isn’t it? I think. Maybe not as big as five million. But five million’s still quite a piddling amount, isn’t it? That’s only a city in some places. And you can’t park a nuclear weapon in a city. Everybody knows that. That would be dangerous. Maybe even contemptuous of the lives of those in that there city. So, we’re holding it for Britannia, at the moment. We’re like that, you see. Generous to a fault.

I know you’ve probably heard about the mean and miserable Scot who created the Grand Canyon because he dropped a penny in it. But it’s not true.

How could it be? We give everything away. Even our freedom.

But, some of us are okay with that because we get to wave a special flag. It’s a lovely one. Better than a lot. Not as good as some. But it means so much to be able to drape our coffins in it.

I, for one, can’t tell you how grateful I am to be considered a special region of Britain.

I really can’t.

Hope Sings And Dances

Hope_1

(source)

Hope springs eternal in the fields where freedom grows

Gushes forth forever and, with liberty, it flows

It dances and it frolics while it buds and builds anew

Pleasures in the pastures where the words are strong and true

It glories in a garden that will always foster fair

Edifying, magnifying, everyone who’s there

It weaves and wanders wondrously, pervading every dream

Paves the way with petals that are always what they seem

It does not lie to have its way, though despairing may accuse

For it’s allied with the future and a world it won’t abuse

Hope springs and dances for the right to live again

In the hearts of all who seek it and feel its longing pain

Hope smiles and witnesses, will not abandon you

But dances still because of life and dreams it won’t eschew

Remember, in that garden, there is room for all who see

That winter cedes to spring that blooms each and every year

We nurture it and take it with us everywhere we go

And tag the dancers, one and all, so hope its seeds may sow

With hope that never dies a death, for eternally it springs

We build a world that starts, right here, where hope will dance and sing

Give hope a voice that reaches far and fills the hills and glens

A voice that touches one and all, transforms their lives and then

Let hope be in the notes of every song it can conceive

From island homes to city streets for, with hope, we may believe

So when hope asks for permission, for it never will impose

Let all who hear the voice of hope sing all the songs hope knows

Brief Pause for Lost Cause

More care to give than I can give

I cannot,

A pause on lifeline of lost cause,

Regrets, mourned in passing

Demise, Ah poor fate,

Dead loss, god rest it, unpause.

Interred by own hand,

DNR’d, by request,

CPR, though offered, refused,

Cannot care more than dead loss for itself,

Paused briefly, now go on,

Cause choose.

Scotland’s Eve

I feel physically sick tonight.

My stomach is doing somersaults and my heart is racing.

I can’t eat.

It’s the eve of the Scottish Referendum.

Tomorrow I will go to the polls along with my fellow countrymen to cast a vote that will determine whether Scotland stays within the 307 year union of the United Kingdom or declares its wish for independence.

For me there is no doubt in my mind that a vote for independence is the right thing for Scotland.

And, perhaps, more importantly, the right thing for the rest of the world.

A rather grand claim, some may say. And yes, I quite understand the doubts that billions of people would have in imagining that a nation of just over 5,000,000 people could have any great impact on the rest of the world.

What possible benefit could the rest of humanity gain by Scotland declaring itself as a self-governing nation?

You would have to know us, to understand us, to believe what so many of us believe. Our history has written our character as the history of any nation has written theirs. What makes the heart of a country are the common experiences of its people.

Here I could hark back to the past as all peoples can do, review a chequered history and claim, with some justification, that we were robbed of self-determination.

I could. But I won’t.

Suffice to say that, ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’. And there is truth in that.

Our hearts have been tested and they ache for the plight of all disenfranchised. They ache for the poor and the hungry. For the homeless and the destitute. Those with no clothes to their back. Those who live in the shadow of weapons that could annihilate millions.

Our history is littered with occasions that have caused hearts to ache fit to breaking. We know and understand that justice begins with one hand reaching to help another. Out hearts have not broken. They are stronger.

When our hands are free we, the people, not the politicians, determine the path we follow in aiding justice and peace in our nation.

From there the ripples grow.

I have no enemies. None in the UK. None in any part of the world.

The enemy I deal with is the the lack of hope that people have around the world when those elected in our name pay lip service to the needs of people and to the good of our planet as a whole.

We are all culpable in how the world stands today.

Only voices and action will change the status quo.

The mood in Scotland is one of renewed hope. The movement has risen from the ground to the surface. The people believe in a better way. The people are capable of delivering a better way.

There are no bullets here. Only a ballot box. And the will of the Scottish people.

I pray with all my heart and soul that the majority of the Scottish electorate will vote tomorrow for independence. That, in gaining a free hand, we will reach our hands out to embrace justice and peace. And others may believe, that if a mere two million voters can declare for this cause, so can the world.

My sickness has turned, after writing this, to tears. I want a future worth having for my seven children and for all the children in the world.

We have to start somewhere.

May Music, Day 15 – Yes! Perfectly Caledonian – with some Dignity

I’m one of these annoying buggers that sing along to a lot of songs. Sometimes even just the ones in my head.

But, singing along and singing along can mean quite different things depending on the occasion.

For this one, think party, people, alcohol imbibed in sufficient quantity to be somewhat reckless in demeanour (pished), end of the night, dj with a smart sense of how to wrap up an evening. Everybody loves everybody else. Oh, yes, everybody loves everybody else. (Except for that wee shite over there that’s asking for a belt in the mush.) Arms around shoulders, linking one to another. Think, swaying in time with stupid grins plastered. Think, starting slowly and then trying to keep up, arms and legs flailing while singing (shouting) along. Timing becomes nothing. Participation is all. Ach, you’d have to be there. And we have, Runrig with ‘Loch Lomond’.

Quieten down for a more melancholy sort of pished and we have, Dougie MacLean with ‘Caledonia’.

Speaking of pished. Hogmanay (New Year’s Eve) and we have, Eddi Reader with ‘Auld Lang Syne’.

And I can’t include Eddi Reader here without including one of my favourites of hers from when she sang with Fairground Attraction. And it’s a different sort of pishing down here. ‘Perfect’.

I had no idea when I began Twindaddy’s 25 days of music challenge how difficult it would prove to be. For a number of reasons. Nor that it would create a monster. I am currently incapable of choosing one song only. But, if you all only listen to one, listen to Dougie MacLean singing ‘Caledonia’. It’s perfect. Yes, for home.

And maybe some ‘Dignity’. Because the two of them kinda go hand in hand.

There’s more to Scotland than all portrayals. Including mine.