Are We Fools?

Pride postures

Doesn’t think

Reveals its feelings

Lives its hubris daily

That’s its way

Decisions drafted blindly

Blinkered bullshit

Evidence of arrogance at play

Language of superior perception

Then wonders why and scoffs

When natives rise

Out of union

With no hint of sadness

Governance unjust

Of those unwise

No self-reflection

But for backward glory

For days of yore

When empire ruled the waves

Citing some equivalence

As righteous

Behold the truth of union

England save

Let us be Britannia

That story

Etched in minds

So privileged, promote

Ideaology, will not see buried

Ignominy, in parliament, by rote

The only flag that matters

Is the George cross

Andrew, Patrick, David

Servile names

Problems to be solved

And always have been

Extinguish nationhood

For other’s name

Woe to you, usurpers

Of the celtic

For fallen follows pride

As sure as fate

Come the day, the hour

Relive your words here

Masters manifest

The words of hate

Dismissing while upholding

Such is legend

In lands where one suppresses, ridicules

We are not slaves

Nor your possessions

Canny, aye

But are we fools?

Came across this video today on Twitter. Makes you proud to be an equal partner in this great union, where respect and progressive politics are at play. Imagine actually saying this! Funny, eh? No sense of humour, we Jocks. Inferiority complex, they say. Wonder why. Off now to the psychiatrist’s couch to discuss Stockholm Syndrome in hopes of convincing others we don’t need this shit. Who does? Tell me. Any independent country out there who would like to rejoin the fold and be patronised again? Any? Didn’t think so.


Contenders, Ready!

So, it’s one of thon Fridays. Not had one in ages. Months. Quiet night in. A wee hauf. Been right aff it this while back. Until last week’s Burns’ Supper. Found my feet again. Right at the bottom of my bed. Laptop on my lap, as it happens. So, that’s why, eh? Who’d have thunk of the most obvious? D’uhh!

Most obvious. There’s a thought.

A thought I keep thinking.

Keep thinking.


Think why.


Why would the Tories, the most self-serving party that ever disgraced these shores quite happily roll over to the loss of income on their doorstep for the potential – faintest potential, given all things – that hordes of non-Brits (it’s a thang, doncha know?) would come a-rushing to ‘do deals’.

‘Oh, do a deal with me, Mother Homeland! I be dying for you to look most favourably upon me agin. Deal me! Deal me!’

‘Get in line, meboy! There are queues – veritable queues, I say, to be gone through. Can’t just go a-rushing in and making deals willy-nilly.’

(‘Yes. We can. Shh! Hush, hush! Need to know basis.’)

‘Oh, jolly good! Hey there! You, old boy! What was that you were saying about ‘’do me’’? I might just have the job for you. What ho! Tally ho! Rule big momma! Big momma’s on the stage. Come ye, of lesser worth and seek our patronage!’


Yeah, that sort of scenario.

Now, either they’ve taken complete and utter leave of their senses which, by world reckoning, may be the case or….

…they’re up to no good.

Have you ever had good news that you just couldn’t keep to yourself?

You know the kind.

‘New job! Promotion! Go meee, go meee! Sort-ed!’

‘Just won a fortune on the lottery! Help me celebrate! Drinks are on me! Go meee! Go meee! Sort-ed!’

‘Found ancient Roman artefacts in my garden! Fuckin’ millions! Ace! Go meee! Go meee! Sort-ed!’

‘Cancer? That bastard? I’ve just found the cure! And it’s easy! Stop worrying! Go meee! Go meee! Sort-ed!’

Compare with.

‘Sit down. I have news.’

‘It’s like this….’

‘Don’t worry. I’ve got this in hand.’

Brexit? No probs. 12 point plan, I’ve got. Pretty pictures. Look….squirrel…Go me…. Go me….Sort of…..’


I ask you, when, when in the history of all that’s Tory did the Tories ever do anything, and I mean anything, that they had to if it wasn’t self-serving?

And that’s not just me that’s saying this. Oh no. History does. Go take a look. I’ll wait.


Find anything?


Something that says, ‘For the greater good this shall be done.’?


Neither have I.

So, why, exactly are they pointing a loaded pistol to their own heads – and ours – and stating, ‘I feel lucky.’

We punks aside, for that would be their definition of the lesser mortals that inhabit the lower stratosphere, why would they commit an act of such obvious self-sabotage?’

What’s in it for them?

What. Is. In. It. For. Them?

Now, I have theories.

Guess work. Based on shit and stuff.

‘That’s my shit. That’s their shite. This is my stuff. They can get stuffed.’

What’s in it for them?

Apart from votes that will fly with the wind once, you know, the actual negotiations take place.  If anyone left, in Britain, has the cahones they were born with.

‘What do you mean, ‘’No’’?

‘Do you know who I am?

I have friends in high places.

Special relationships.

I’m somebody.’


Yeah, coulda been a contender. But I sold my soul to the company’s goal.

My question?  Whose company?

And what’s their mission statement?

Cherchez la raison d’être.

It is not for nothing.

You can bet my hauf on it.

So, one of thon Fridays.

Am I bitter?


What goes around, comes around. Had it coming. Old boy.


I’ll be in training after tonight, you understand. #Contenders