Disgraced MP for Orkney and Shetland Alistair Carmichael has applied to continue in his role under the terms of the Rehabilitation of Offenders Act, and asked his loyal friend and assistant Citizen Cuddis to take a letter to constituents down for him. It goes without saying that Cuddis is a deeply unreliable character who simply handed over the letter to Newsnet.scot.
I’m looking at a photograph of me sitting on Lerwick quayside in all my knickerbockered glory, trousers and professional integrity at half mast, waving my apology to Nicla at passers-by. And I ask myself, who could fail to fall for my bovine rusticity as a prelude to forgiving my recent lapse in judgement?
Those seeking to make mischief over this nine-day-wonder, of course, ask a different question, namely, Alastair Carmichael—dildo, dinosaur, dumpling, dodo, dead man walking or all of the above? I accept none of these characterisations. This whole smear fiasco is a storm in a tea-urn, a fandango of twisted facts.
Have I done a bad thing? Yes. However, as Sir Malky of Bruce says, this isn’t about me. It’s about all of us. If pushed, I’ll admit that I plotted to smear the democratically elected leader of the third largest party in Westminster, dragged the French into a sordid diplomatic stramash, lied to the electorate during a General Election and concealed facts that may have altered the course of that election (Once its written down like this, it doesn’t seem so bad.)
As Malky points out, politicians are all lying two-faced, morally bankrupt degenerates—that’s what we got into politics for. This is why you can’t throw me off the gravy train—I’d be the only one left on the platform.
We are all guilty. We just don’t like to admit it. For example, haven’t we all at some time—in direct contravention of the Health and Safety Act—had a pish in the kitchen sink? (Anyone who says he hasn’t is as big a liar as I am). This act was common in the days when a two a.m. late February return trek through blin’ drift to the outside kludgie could be as exhausting as man-hauling a sled full of breeze blocks from Minsk to Vladivostok.
Though a Liberal Democrat I believe there must be limits. It is correct to condemn pishing in the sink for those working in the food preparation area of our local supermarkets, but getting up a petition against people like me, just because they have been cruelly caught short in the cut and thrust of an election campaign is ridiculous.
Perhaps an anecdote might clarify my point. A constituent of mine—as working class as a tartan flask and harder than a Werther’s Original—spent his working week clarted with more grease than the starting handle of an Austin 1100. Yet when he stepped out on a Saturday night he was dressed like George Sanders on his way to meet the queen. He was a gentleman, as well-mannered as a Viceroy’s manservant. When emptying his bladder became a necessity he removed all crockery from the washing up basin before pishing in the sink. Now that’s class.
What am I driving at? Well, I have been removing the political crockery from the sink of Government before having a pish, for the last 15 years. Yet this one time I splashed the Spode I discover I am to be dragged through the courts!
People in high office don’t have time to deal with such petty bureaucracy. Would you expect a Chief Superintendent of Police to know that slipping a jar of lime chutney into his coat pocket at M&S before vaulting the checkout and having it on his toes through the carpark constitutes shoplifting? I think not. So why attack me when I fail to read important papers before I sign them? It’s absurd.
To be honest (for once) I never look at the papers I’m asked to sign. God knows what I might be approving. First time I learned of this Nicla nonsense was when I read it in that week’s Take A Break. Heaven knows what else I have signed off.
Bad people claim that I have more chance of convincing an atheist to give up a weekend of hot sex to stuff copies of the Watch Tower through letterboxes than of winning this court case. I disagree.
Malky tells me that the Lib Dems are to put a Self-Punishment and Sentencing Bill before parliament immediately. If unopposed (I’ll certainly be voting for it) it should be passed just in time to allow multiple homicide prisoner, Jock ‘Hatchet’ Mulgrew, to walk free, but not before banning himself from his local library for life, adding three points to his driving license and revoking in perpetuity his membership of the Mecca Bingo (to include all affiliates).
This is a sensible approach to wrongdoing. Bad people aren’t bad all the time. Doctor Crippen put up prizes for his bowling club nights out. Haigh, the acid bath murderer, donated a ping pong table to his local church. I personally raised enough money to slapdash paint the Lerwick Harbour pilot boat (two coats mind you). And if I remember right, I once signed a petition to save the Orcadian hump-backed shrimp.
I done a bad thing once in 15 years. I have experimented with various punishments since the smear, including the wearing of horse-hair nether garments (too itchy); filling my argyle socks with lead shot (when walking, I looked like I was trying to impersonate James Brown). In the end I opted for aversion therapy, sewing heavy duty handles to the fore and aft of my Y-fronts. Now, every time I catch myself lying I give myself a wedgie.
I can give no more.
The Right and Honourable Alistair Carmichael