Citizen Caddis concludes his one-man election mission to explain
For the second time this month, our postie violated the airspace of my lobby by poking yet another Scottish Conservative and Unionist Party leaflet through my letterbox. This one contained unsolicited advice about how to vote in the General Election.
The modest brochure was so insubstantial in content and form that it floated on a waft of its own guff to settle on my laminate flooring like an autumn leaf. Breaking all previous promises to the contrary, I picked it up and read it.
Bill and Ben
Whoever cobbled this comic together had to be the Bill and Ben of political scribblers. For starters, the sole leaping off place for its appeal to voters was the trampoline of Sturgeon’s infamous ‘promise’: that she’d rather roll butt naked down a bank of nettles than bother the Scottish people with another divisive independence referendum. That the 2014 referendum was a ‘once in a geological era opportunity’.
The logic, the leaflet explained, was imbued with turbo-charged clarity: The Jurassic period lasted 53 million years. Nicla should therefore take independence off the table for at least that long, by which time there’s a good chance that Boris et al. will have secured the mother of all dog’s bollocky Brexit deals.
Furthermore, the leaflet assured me that a second referendum was a frail unwanted thing: like a teddy bear with two gammy legs and a wall eye, lying in a junk shop window under the eight-track stereo. Evidence for the disdain held by the Scottish people for IndyRef2 came from a Ruth Harrison doorstep survey of fox hunting, Land Rover Discovery owners from Wick to Troon.
Ogbad the Bad
The candidate would play Noggin the Nog to Nicla Sturgeon’s Ogbad the Bad. And he would stand up for motherhood, apple pie and waterboarding grannies until they signed away their homes to pay for overpriced, sub-standard care (though relatives will be able to keep enough to buy a round of shandy at the wake).
This Tory champion would keep the so-called SNP out of the constituency and ‘bring them down to size’. The leaflet failed to say what size the SNP should be brought down to.
Overall, the leaflet’s content was shallower than the Scottish Labour Party’s talent pool, policy-lite, rabidly anti-SNP and awash with impressive verbs. The pathetic pamphlet’s patter left the reader in no doubt that the candidate was at least as active as that bloke off the old Milk Tray advert. He’d be ‘standing firm’, ’championing’, ‘demanding’, ‘fighting for’, ‘lobbying’ and ‘working to create’ stuff. All at the same time. On my behalf. If I voted for him.
And all this would be made possible because he would be a voice of influence at the ‘heart of government’. Google Maps failed to identify the exact location of this place but the RAC suggested I head for Scotch Corner and take the Brigadoon bypass.
Was the candidate capable of achieving the Herculean energy levels such an ambitious programme for government demanded? Bill and Ben must have thought so. They offered a slack handful of vacuous ‘I will’ statements on the candidate’s behalf to prove it:
‘I will … stand firm against the SNP’s plans for another divisive independence referendum and work to create a growing and vibrant economy for Scotland within the UK.’
The MSM have managed to weld the adjective ‘divisive’ to the noun ‘referendum’ so effectively they can no longer be rent asunder.
This divisive referendum meme is used to re-imagine Indy1 through the lens of historical revisionist fantasies in which unionist council estates fought pitched battles against independence minded council estates across the central belt.
Introducing a human angle, the text highlighted a poignant tale of Mecca Bingo buddies and their families living on either side of a tenement landing clashed on their drying green — one clan armed with military grade shillelaghs; the other brandishing spike encrusted cannonballs on the end of lavvy chains.
Apparently, this was a time when the jails overflowed with spittle-flecked relatives rendered psychopathic by the outrageous idea that there might be an outbreak of democracy in Scotland.
The roll call of Indy-fuelled crimes included matricide, patricide, fratricide and Kelvin-side, where the murderer first ridicules an Indy-supporting victim in a panned loaf accent for having a £15 billion deficit, before stabbing him through the heart with a gold-nibbed Mont Blanc fountain pen.
‘I will … Demand that our fishing industry and communications are given priority in the Brexit negotiations and that the best possible outcomes are achieved.’
And on whose plate will the candidate lay this demand, I wonder? The Brexit fairies of course — the ones that are going to magic up the best trade deal since the Conquistadores started kicking ass down Mexico way and hit the mother lode. As for aiming for the best possible outcome, big deal! You would expect no less from a Primary 3 pupil in the egg and spoon race.
‘I will … fight for the continued support to farmers post Brexit and for the introduction of a fair and simple system to secure a thriving and profitable industry.’
‘Fair, simple, thriving and profitable’ sounds great to me. We could all be done with a bit more thriving. It should be available on prescription. It remains to be seen however, just how ‘fair’ farmers will consider Brexit when they start scratching their heads and poking about in their hedgerows looking for European subsidies that will disappear like spurdies off a washing line the morning after Brexit.
As the pamphlet ground to a halt, it became clear that Bill and Ben had kept their best work for the final paragraph. They loaded up the Tory policy blunderbuss with an entire 30 words — some of them polysyllabic, aimed it at the electorate and let loose with both barrels (I don’t think a blunderbuss has two barrels, Cudd. Ed). The blast coincided with the exact moment when the average reader was about to slump into a blether-induced coma:
‘On issues such as Education, health and policing, where the SNP government have failed us, I will work tirelessly to ensure our beautiful corner of Scotland is not forgotten.’
That’s better than the ending to The Sixth Sense by that M. Nightshift Showaddywaddy bloke (You’re a film buff too Cudd? Who knew? Is there no beginning to your talent? Ed).
But it’s not much of a battle cry — a commitment from the candidate to drive himself into the ground in an effort to ensure that this part of Scotland slipped nobody’s mind.
The leaflet had a slogan that I can’t fully recall. But it should have read: Join Ruth Harrison’s candidate. And let us March Backwards Together to 1953.
PS. I have blocked off my letterbox with half a decking board and a machine gun rat-a-tat-tat from my nail gun. Take that Mr. postie.