Is That Yer Cult Ye’re Wearin’? 

I get some seriously daft things advertised to me on Facebook.  One was asking me if I was missing male companionship!  Somebody to watch the fitba with and who’ll understand when you put your foot through the screen would be nice I suppose.  Like last Thursday when Scotland were incomprehensibly NOT awarded a penalty against Austria cos the referee was giving his guide dug a biscuit at the time.

More bizarre than that though was the Daily Mail – “Subscribe to our digital edition!”  As I wouldn’t housetrain my new puppy on the Daily Mail supposing I’d fed it a Kennomeat vindaloo the night before, how on earth I arrived in the target demographic group will remain forever a mystery.  Of course I asked them how I was supposed to wipe my delicate jacksie on their online news site and got a notification a couple of days later – “You have been recognised as one of Mail Online’s top fans this week…”  It made me wonder what on earth everyone else had been saying.

However, I can top even that: “Dianetics – the Modern Science of Mental Health!” screamed the headline.  I’m not sure what’s modern about it as it was written about 70 years ago, or even scientific, as its author, L Ron Hubbard, failed miserably when attempting to demonstrate the benefits of his psychotherapy to a study group.  I’ve actually read the book and it worked beautifully for me.  That shoogly table leg doesn’t irritate me any more.

The thing about Dianetics though is it’s part of a bait and switch by the Church of Scientology and they’d have been better calling themselves Signitallaway.  You think you’re getting one thing and then find yourself getting something else altogether, like voting for independence only to find the Hate Crime Bill is seen as more important.

As you progress up the Scientology levels you’ll eventually find out about the evil intergalactic emperor Xenu and that’s a truly incredible tale.  I can’t repeat it here – not through fear of being sued as you can find it all on Wikipedia – but because anyone reading it will be killed by a special implant that gives them pneumonia and I reckon we’ve all got enough to worry about with Covid-19.

Suffice to say that Xenu was thankfully captured and is held in a cave somewhere in the Pyrenees with a force field powered by an eternal battery ensuring he can’t get out.  Why they need to fleece folk out of money when they could’ve just taken out a patent on the power cell I don’t know cos it certainly would’ve kept a few Duracell bunnies hopping.

It really is truly amazing what you can get folk to believe once they’re indoctrinated…

• SNP1&2 is the only way to get independence
• Another referendum will be along in a minute
• Men can magically become women on their own say-so.

The last one shows a depth of imagination that Mr Hubbard would’ve surely been envious of. 

One of the things that defines a cult is total, unswerving obedience to the leader.  No criticism is allowed or tolerated and results in serious abuse from the inner circle at the top and their “militia”.  The leader is the way, the truth and the life and complete loyalty is not only expected but demanded.

Another characteristic is having insulting names for non-believers – “wogs” and “suppressive persons” in Scientology, the latter being reserved for those who are really, REALLY bad, i.e. they once believed unconditionally but now speak out.  A bit like yoon, troll, and a new one – “member of the 77th brigade”.

Carrots are good too – the promised benefit will be delivered if you take just one more particular action.

Just saying.

We’ve seen this all before with Blairism.  I thought Thatcher was scary, but ‘kin hell that Blair character scared me out of my wits.  These beady eyes shining with messianic zeal… {{{shiver}}}

Personality cults NEVER end well and one of the things they particularly hate is a RIVAL.  Scientologists are taught to hate psychiatry and they obediently do this with a religious fervour appropriately enough.

However, I’m not sure it could match the bile and venom being spewed in the direction of the new Alba party since its arrival on the scene.  You’d think they would’ve been welcomed… this new voice also committed to Scottish independence and actually encouraging people to give their first votes to the SNP in the hope of building a pro-indy super majority… a chance to boot out some of these unionist wasters… an extra ally to be called on when the media were so accustomed to having a good old three-on-one (which is something I’ve actually got written on my bucket list beside the word Sugababes).  You’d be wrong though, sadly.

The whole situation can be summed up in the story of old Farmer Donald whose absence from kirk for a few weeks was noticed and noted by Minister MacTavish.  Eventually the minister found out that Donald was in fact attending services at another parish church in the next village.

Seeing him in the street one day he decided to confront him:

“Well now, Donald, you were once one of my flock but I see you’ve decided to seek your lessons from the Scriptures elsewhere.  Tell me – how would you feel if your sheep deserted you and went to feed in a different pasture?“

Donald thought for a moment…

“To tell ye the truth, Meenister,” he replied, “I couldnae really blame them if it wis better gress.“

A Cybernat

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That Was Some Week That Was  

Erwin Schrödinger should’ve forgotten all about putting a cat, a flask of poison, and a radioactive source into a sealed box and then postulating that the cat is both alive and dead until the box is opened. I’m no expert in quantum theory myself, but these things I can deduce for sure:

1. The SSPCA would likely get a bit p*ssed off.

2. Putting Tiddles in a sealed box is always going to lead to one inevitable outcome and the cat’s mortal state can be determined at any point on the timeline. The clawing noises or lack thereof is the giveaway here.

He would’ve been better applying the thought process to the more fascinating world of Scottish politics as he would’ve been in his element this week…

The media are trying their best to topple Nicola Sturgeon as she’s the most popular political leader in the UK.

The media are trying to protect Nicola Sturgeon as they know she has no intention of delivering Scottish independence.

The media are on Nicola Sturgeon’s side, make of that what you will.

The media are on Alex Salmond’s side, make of that what you will.

The intervention of David Davis, a typical Tory scumbag, means they’re trying to strip powers from the Scottish parliament.

The intervention of David Davis, the only Tory with any integrity, means they’re trying to give the Scottish parliament extra powers.

Vote SNP 1&2 – it’s the only way to get a majority.

Vote SNP 1 & somebody else 2 – it’s the only way to get a majority.

Mental eh?

Probably not as daft as another comment I saw elsewhere.  It was along the lines of, “The SNP are desperately trying NOT to get a majority so let’s all vote SNP 1&2 and make sure they get what they don’t want!”

 It’s times like these where you need some light relief and that’s where George Galloway comes in…

George was apparently feline a bit left out this week.  The Tory-voting socialist who believes in independence for all countries except his own, and who’s been in more parties than Kim Kardashian, has Holyrood ambitions as we all know.  Unfortunately he appears to have confused Twitter followers with potential voters rather than what they actually are – people who’re intrigued to see whether he can make an even bigger arse of himself since… well, the last time he made an arse of himself.

George is like one of these old North of England comedy acts still hawking the same tired old repertoire round the circuit to an ever-dwindling audience and an even dwindlinger number of laughs.  In his mind he should still be packing them in on Sunday Night at the London Palladium, but in reality his agent struggles to get him the 8-8.30pm slot at Harlow Working Men’s Club once the greyhound racing’s finished.

“My mother-in-law’s so ugly she once got a knockback from Quasimodo…”

“No, no, no – these Fokkers were in Messerschmitts…”

Anyway, George came out with a real cracker this week:

I don’t have a huge amount of time for Humza Useless… er Yousaf, but the guy didn’t deserve that.  An utterly scandalous comment that any MSM journalist would give their left goolie to hear from someone with even the most tenuous connection to the Yes camp.

It reminded me of something that happened when I went into work just before the independence referendum.  This big black guy stopped me – he looked like Tee Hee from Live and Let Die so I didn’t really have much choice in case he fed me to something.  He pointed at the Yes badge on my lapel.  “Yes for Scotland?” he asked and I told him it was.  He gave me this great big grin, showing more teeth than a Ferrari gearbox.  “In my house,” he went on, “there are FOUR yeses!”

I doubt if he’d pass George Galloway’s test, but I wish we had more REAL Scots like him and his family.  We could now be getting on with the job of building a fairer, just society in our proud, independent nation. 

A Cybernat

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Wasted Votes 

While holding court in the works canteen of a Glenrothes factory, teenage me got an important lesson about the importance of voting.  Something Kirkcaldy District Council had or hadn’t done, can’t remember which, was seriously irritating me and it was obviously Labour’s fault, Fife at that time being a deeper shade of red than my face one time I accidentally walked into the ladies’.

The senior sparkie at the table listened patiently… “So who did ye vote for at the cooncil election, Davie?” he asked.

I just got the words out – “Well I didnae vote…” when back it came…

“So what the f*** are YOU moanin’ aboot then?”

They were good with the put-downs in that place.  There was a foreman who was a “we cannae” long before the term became fashionable… “Independence? Dinnae be f***in’ daft. We couldnae dae it,” he’d opine patriotically.

The apprentice sparkie liked to wind him up about it and one day got onto the subject… “Time we got rid o’ the English.  I’d rebuild Hadrian’s Wall and electrify it anaw!”

“Aye? Well it’d mak f*** all difference if YOU electrified it!”  8, 9, 10, no – he won’t get up from that.  I think they call it bullying nowadays though.

Anyway, it was a lesson I took on board and I’ve never failed to turn up at the polling station since.

Fast forward to 1983 and I was doing my college industrial training in Dundee.  Still registered to vote in Fife, carless me paid his train and bus fares to get back home to do his civic duty before the polls closed.  Who to vote for though?  Well, what was most important to me?  No-brainer… Scottish independence.  And who was committed to it?  The SNP.  So that’s where my X went.  They’d no chance of winning.  Willie Hamilton was the popular sitting Labour MP where they weighed the Labour vote instead of counting it.

So how did it go?  Pretty badly as things turned out.  A long way behind in 4th place.  A HELLUVA long way behind.

It would’ve been easy not to go as what was the point?  However, it HAD to be done and I HAD to vote on the basis of what I believed in.

Back I went in 1987 and voted SNP again.  This time while still in 4th we did run the Liberals quite close for 3rd.  If only we’d got 4 times as many votes we’d have beaten Labour’s Henry McLeish.  Oh well.

Next time around I was living in Musselburgh and working in Edinburgh where I’d also become the union rep for my area of the workplace.  Not too many nationalists amongst the shop stewards’ committee and the Labour diehards couldn’t hide their contempt for us.

One of them was defeated by the Conservatives in a Council by-election and wasted no time in letting me know his theory on the voting patterns of the various demographics in his area:

“If yon essennpee bastirt had stood aside we could’ve kept the Tory oot!”

I asked him why he hadn’t stood aside instead but could see from his reaction that I would’ve been as well chiselling it out in hieroglyphics on a stone tablet for him.  A sense of entitlement is a dangerous thing.

I wish I had a tenner for every time I heard how important it was to vote Labour and get rid of the Tories for Scotland’s sake at the 1992 election.  We’d been ravaged by the worst excesses of Thatcherism where her idea of restructuring the economy was akin to hacking someone’s leg off and handing them an Elastoplast.  I agreed we needed rid of them and that’s why I voted for independence.  Again.  Onwards and upwards – 3rd place this time…

Before the two of you that are left click away, I’m not going to run through my votes at every election since then.  Suffice to say that they’ve all been for the SNP – for INDEPENDENCE.  Except on the one occasion where John Swinney was in charge for a Holyrood election and committed electoral suicide with his ridiculous “Penny for Scotland” campaign.

Do we want better public services? – YES!

Would we pay more in tax for them? – Er… yes, well at least until we find ourselves with a ballot paper in our hands.

Nobody has ever been elected anywhere to the best of my knowledge on a promise to take more money from the people.  Still, at least I turned up, even if I did vote for “none of these clowns”.

In summary, I want independence.  NOT the GRA, NOT the HCB, NOT to have money that was supposedly ear-marked for an independence referendum spent somewhere else and most definitely NOT for an evil plot to jail a former party stalwart on made-up charges.  When I vote for something I expect the party to get on with bringing it about.  Maybe I’m just old-fashioned, but I don’t like the bait and switch approach where I’m used as part of a captive electorate and then they get on with pursuing things that most folk don’t give a damn about, things that sound like they were thought up for students’ rag week.  Especially when they ignore their supposed raison d’être.  I can’t vote for that.

So what’s MY plan?  Well I’d like to see a plebiscite election in May.  Sadly, the SNP are against it and seem determined to ask for a Section 30 and then whine about the affront to democracy when Boris Johnson thumbs his nose at them.  I can’t vote for that either.

I suppose I’ll just have to turn up and see who’s standing on the constituency vote that’s committed to independence, even if they’re representing the Fancy Dress Party.  It’s probably the most depressed I’ve been since September 19th 2014.

A Cybernat

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In the Church of the Poison Mind 

Quite a catchy song to be fair, but not the type of thing I’d mention to my pals on the way to a Whitesnake concert back in the day. I would’ve been ostracised and excommunicated faster than a… what’s a good analogy here?… let’s see… a retiring Labour MP who’d long been in favour of abolishing the House of Lords being persuaded that the best way to reform the institution would be to accept the £300+ per day attendance fee and try doing it from the inside?

Faster even than that? Well, I dunno… how about faster than the airbrushing of a former First Minister and his achievements from a party’s website?

It certainly looks like Alex Salmond is persona non grata in St Nicola’s poisoned mind. No sooner had she got started on her opening statement than she was replaying his trial. It’s a pity the convener didn’t interrupt her the way she did to Alex Cole-Hamilton the Friday before. I lost count of the times I heard “Alex Salmond… sexual harassment… allegations… complaints” as well as her unwillingness to cast aspersions before going on to cast aspersions and the fact that she “she wasn’t here to talk about that” before droning on about it non-stop. And she had the brass neck to complain about being asked the same question 2 or 3 times? If only she’d mentioned independence as often in the last 7 years. That’s the SNP’s Voldemort word of course, except at election times.

What I’m still not getting though is what Alex Salmond is actually expected to apologise FOR. He was tried before a majority-female jury and cleared of all charges. Has he to apologise AGAIN to the woman he apologised to before who accepted his apology and declined to be moved to another position before realising some time later that she was offended after all? Or was it to the woman who wasn’t even in the building when he tried to assault her? The only thing I can see that he should be apologising for is the “incident” at Edinburgh Airport although the only concern THAT should’ve raised would be, “Fkin hell, don’t let this guy tell any jokes at the next SNP night out.”

Still, oor Nicola did very well and was clear and concise in her answers – when she was replying to her SNP colleagues. It was almost as if she’d written the questions herself. Her body language was a bit of a giveaway though, often sitting with her arms crossed in a defensive position, in total contrast to the polished performance from her predecessor a few days before. The most striking thing to me was that for the First Minister of our country, she didn’t appear to know hellish much, or was unaware of things, or would need to check up on them. Reading a letter from the Permanent Secretary to Alex Salmond was something that she “will never forget”. What a pity her memory seemed to have more holes in it than a Tetley tea bag for the other stuff though. Her yooni exams must’ve been one hell of an ordeal for her. We did get a bit of the “visibly fighting to control her emotions” stuff, straight from the Tony Blair handbook. I suppose we should at least be thankful she can’t invade Iraq to distract us from any domestic issues.

I did make an effort to watch proceedings as dispassionately as I could as there’s no doubt that people see what they want to see rather than the actual reality. The former football commentator Jock Brown used to tell a good story about his mailbag the week after a Celtic v Rangers game. He got this one letter telling him he was all the Catholic, bead-rattling so-and-sos under the sun because he’d said “a” and “b” and “c” during his coverage of the match. The next letter he looked at accused him of rolling up his trouser leg and sacrificing goats down the local Masonic Lodge because he’d said “x” and “y” and “z” during the same game. He then just sent the Celtic fan’s one to the Rangers fan and vice versa with a cover note. Of course he tipp-exed out the names and addresses since it was unlikely they’d start sending each other Christmas cards. Sadly, it looks like there’s now as wide a chasm between both factions of the independence movement as there is between these two fitba giants.

All in all it was really tedious stuff that made me want to sleep, with Jackie Baillie being the only one worth listening to. And that, dear reader, is how you win a £20 wager with someone who’s bet that you can’t use the words “want to sleep with Jackie Baillie” in that order in a sentence.

And talking about tedious… Margaret Mitchell eh? I walked away from the computer, did the hoovering, watched the entire boxset of Game of Thrones and she was still trying to pronounce “catastrophic”.

In fairness though wee Nicola must’ve done well going by the number of people tripping over themselves to join the SNP after her appearance. For the party’s sake it’ll hopefully compensate for the thousands they’ve lost through their pursuit of idiotic policies. It was a bit weird that they all seemed to have Twitter accounts and had known her since she was 16 though. She must’ve been one popular lassie at the school. No wonder she became a cult leader when she grew up. 

A Cybernat

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