‘TWO weeks to save the Union … 10 days to save the Union … one week to save the Union … financial markets will melt down … pensions will be knackered and we’ll all be paupers … Doomed, Captain Mainwaring, we’re all dooooomed!
No we’re not Private Fraser. That’s just the sound of panicking politicians worried that the natives are revolting – and not before time.
The Lockwood household has been going through a similar recent drama to the Anglo-Scottish divorce.
‘Two weeks until son leaves home to start uni … 10 days until son leaves home ...’ etc etc.
His mother, like David Cameron, Ed Moribund and company, is a mess; a nervous wreck. “My baby’s leaving, the family will never be the same” (and ‘thank God to that’ say I, although not out loud. Time he stood on his own two feet).
I suspect however, that just like the Scots, he will be a lingering presence, cap in hand on the doorstep for some years to come, never quite as out of sight or mind as we might like.
But where the boy just wants his washing doing and a new mobile phone, the spendthrift Scots, so used to having their cheques signed and backsides wiped by we English for generations, may well greet next Friday, groggy and bleary-eyed, with the dawning thought: “Sh** – what do we do now?”
There’s a wonderful piece of homespun wisdom – be careful what you wish for, because you might get it.
The Scots may well wake up next week with the biggest hangover since they invented Hogmanay.
Oh, there’ll be a party alright if the Yes vote wins. Paying for it might be a bit of a downer though. They won’t even be afford the paracetamol, let alone the bar bill.
And then our ‘new’ neighbours will be knocking on the door: “I don’t suppose you have a cup of sugar, do you Jimmy? And a couple of billion quid to get our new Scottish shekels off the ground...?”
All the extra benefits, free prescriptions, university tuition and elderly care that Scots enjoy (but which we English perversely fund)? Good luck paying for that.
That army of migrants at Calais might be heading somewhere further north than Dover if the utopian land of milk, honey and malt whisky comes into being next week. Good. Let the Jocks have the benefit tourists.
In fact if I was the blathering, panic-stricken idiot that Cameron is this week, I’d organise boats and trucks to drop them all off at Hadrian’s Wall and point them north.
The French do it to us, don’t they? And what are the Scots going to do about it without an army?
THE biggest plus for the independence campaign, as I’ve said previously, has been the ‘No’ campaign. Apparently when Gordon Brown weighed in a couple of weeks ago, the Yes polls went through the roof.
Well they would, wouldn’t they? And Gormless Broon was back again this week, trying a brand new ‘Home Rule’ bribe.
They’re like mothers, these politicians, they just don’t get it. Nag a teenager and he/she will do the exact opposite. It’s an eternal truth.
With these arrogant, patronising fools it’s even worse.
If Cameron, Clegg, Miliblind, Brown, told you not to jump off a cliff, you’d suddenly give it serious consideration. They are toxic, all of them.
The reason Scotland is getting behind Yes – quite apart from despising us, which many do, and which is another reason for them to begone – is the same reason the people of Clacton will re-elect Douglas Carswell as Britain’s first UKIP MP next month.
We’re all, Scots and English alike, sick and tired of the lies, the deceit, the self-serving rhetoric of the Westminster class, that takes our placid obedience so insultingly for granted.
If independence happens, there will be a minor hiccup in the stock and currency markets. And then? The politicians’ scare tactics over, it will be business as usual.
The sun will still rise, the pubs will still open.
I am a proud Briton and citizen of the United Kingdom. I like the Scots despite their loathing us. I wish they’d stay in the Union. But beg? Crawl? I don’t think so, and seeing Cameron and Miliband doing that so cravenly offends me.
Her Majesty the Queen must be ashamed of them.
I just hope that next spring UKIP revolutionises the English political landscape in the same way.
Not just because we desperately need arms-length removal from Big Brother in Brussels, Paris and Berlin, but because the main parties need teaching a lesson.
What I detect in Scotland is the same emotive drive behind independence, as the groundswell for UKIP here. Whatever price there may be to pay, breaking the poisonous link not with their England cousins, but with Westminster, is worth the pain.
The Scots are not unlike our spotty, sulky, recalcitrant teenagers (although my son would probably make a better fist of economic policy than Alex Salmond, every bit as deceitful, selfish and power-driven as Cameron and Co).
They keep threatening to leave home, blackmailing poor, long-suffering mum with emotional threats.
But if the Scots go it alone, like the spotty teen, they will soon find out how tough life is in the real world, and might even appreciate, actually, just how good the old folks were.
But for now, time to let go and find out just how green that grass is on the other side. Keep in touch!
Malik’s puppets making a mockery of Labour group
THE TOXIC legacy of Shahid Malik continues to infect local Labour politics, via Karen Rowling and pet goons Paul Moore and Dathan Tedesco.
I hold little truck for Dewsbury West Labour councillor Darren O’Donovan following his appearance at a pro-Palestinian rally in the town which was apparently organised by Sunni and left-wing extremists. Not your best move, Darren.
That notwithstanding, O’Donovan is a good ward councillor, committed to serving all the communities of Westtown, Scout Hill, Westbrough, Dewsbury Moor and Ravensthorpe – far more than can be said for fellow ward member Rowling, who has been busy chasing promotion up the regional Labour ladder.
She has no great track record of delivering for her constituents. And now she appears to have knifed her fellow ward councillor in the back.
O’Donovan is keeping his own counsel pending appeal against a de-selection which is rare for a standing councillor, and especially for one so popular amongst ward members and voters.
You can toss a coin for who Rowling was closest to, Malik or Tedesco – or indeed Labour hanger-on Patrick Dennehy – in getting her toehold in local Labour politics, but she’s been a busy bee playing background power games since then, that’s for sure.
Rowling apparently managed to oust the genial Labour constituency chairman from Kirkburton, Mike Greetham, get his job and manoeuvre Tedesco into the vice-chair.
Not only that, she’s got herself on Labour’s regional board and I understand was heavily involved in the candidate selection process and appointing the people – none of them local – who wielded the axe on Darren O’Donovan.
I heard ages ago from a Ravensthorpe party member that Rowling was making allegations against O’Donovan and my biggest wonder is why senior party figures like Paul Kane and Kirklees group leader David Sheard tolerate this rubbish.
Oh – and guess who’s on the panel to replace the Dewsbury born-and-bred councillor O’Donovan? That’s right, Malik’s mate Paul Moore, and his tea-boy Tedesco.
There’s been no public word on these shenanigans – yet – from Labour’s Westminster candidate Paula Sherriff, but knowing how Rowling, Tedesco and Moore don’t go to the toilet without ringing Shahid for permission, perhaps she should be looking over her own shoulder.
If they’re the backbone of her campaign then there’s still hope for Tory MP Simon Reevell.
Rowling’s ally Coun Cathy Scott, whose elderly mother allegedly let Tedesco use her address in order to qualify him for local office, works with Paul Moore, who in turn lives with her sister.
And Scott was desperate for the candidate role Sherriff beat her to. Would you put your future in those people’s hands?
Meanwhile Rowling, who got into Dewsbury West on a women-only shortlist, protested all the way to London against an all-woman Parliamentary list for Dewsbury, maybe because Malik thought he’d be a shoo-in.
“Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive...” as Sir Walter Scott wrote.
Watch your back, Paula.