Ian Hamilton QC

This blog has now served its purpose.

Independence is inevitable.

Over to others

Good bye

By Ian Hamilton

It is not for me to be critic to my own book. It is called Stone of Destiny and you can buy it by clicking on my publisher’s link on the right hand column below. Or in any bookshop.

Neither is it for me to criticise my film. Anyone can make a film but not everyone can find a distributor. I tell this story

My film did not make the cut for the Cannes Film Festival but was shown there to try to find a distributor. It was shown three times at a small hundred seat cinema on the fringe. At these small cinemas scouts come in to watch a few frames and then move on. At the first showing they stayed. At the second showing it was crowded and they cheered at the end. At the third showing the big distributors stood and cheered. ‘We have been waiting for this’ they said. This is the sort of film the public want. Their money went with their words.

Odeon took the UK rights and it will be on general distribution throughout the UK in the autumn and over Christmas. Sky took the UK TV rights. Distribution has been taken across Canada. It has been taken by Scandinavia and also the Arab States. Australia and the USA are in negotiation. By this time they may have signed up, or it might take a year. With a start like this there is every expectation that it will go world-wide. Why has this happened? I will tell you.

The film and the book are not just about Scotland. They are about youth. Since Homer smote his blooming lyre all the great stories have been about youth. It is a universal theme. We four young people were lucky to be young at the right time. This is a happy film. It sends people out of the cinema with a smile on their faces. Whatever their nationality all the world loves youngsters who try to do something impossible…..and who manage to do it without hurting anyone. All the world that is except a couple of sour old codgers on the Herald and Scotsman.

What a pity the Herald and the Scotsman couldn’t find an indulgent smile for a story about youth. These two gnarled papers have their roots firmly in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. In the twenty-first their tired boughs drop readership like autumn leaves. They should be given a pension and a free TV licence. Poor bodachs they have taken their place in the ingleneuk of journalism while the world passes them by.

They do not know that we are a nation once again. There is no longer any need to cringe and do down a film about youngsters who were a mere sixty years before their time. Tories, Liberals, Labour, SNP we are all nationalists now. We only disagree about how the new nation is to be governed; by ourselves or by remote control from London. The concourse of the nation in the Great Hall of Edinburgh Castle which celebrated the Stone of Destiny last weekend was of all parties. Even Michael Forsyth was invited but alas couldn’t make it. The nation rejoiced while these two old journalists warmed their hands at the embers of yesterday’s fire.

Och let them sleep on. The people of the world will see the film and make their own judgement. The great men of the film world have made theirs. It matters not what two dying newspapers say about it. Yet I am sorry. Like poor Yorick I knew them both. They were fellows of infinite jest. Now their journalists can scarce raise a decent condemnation between them.

‘Him have a film made about him!’ said one to the other.

‘Him!’ said the other in eloquent reply.

‘A kent his feyther,’ said the first one, removing his dentures.

Then they both went quietly back to sleep.
 

My book STONE of DESTINY is being launched at the premises of my publisher Birlinn at 10 Newington Road, Edinburgh on Friday ( 20th June) at 7pm to which all my readers are cordially invited.

by Ian Hamilton

I see learned people are arguing that the Stone of Destiny is a fake. I wish to make my learned contribution.

It’s bloody heavy. It fell on Kay Mathieson’s toe.

We were ordinary youngsters who took it to perk up ordinary people at a grim time for Scotland and they responded. If it wasn’t for them we would have got the jail.

Now London says they didn’t prosecute because they couldn’t prove ownership. You don’t have to prove ownership. Most stolen cars are owned by hire purchase companies. You don’t have to prove which one. You prove that someone was deprived of possession. We deprived the Dean of Westminster of possession of the Stone. That’s why he jumped up and down and shouted.

Why then do they say they needed to prove ownership? It’s to save their face. In 1951 the Home Secretary called us vulgar vandals but the Scottish people made their position clear. They would have rioted in the streets if we had been put on trial. The Home Secretary gave it away when he hastily added ‘It wouldn’t be in the public interest for us to prosecute.’

Sovereignty lies with the Scottish people, and in 1951 they spoke out loud and clear.

My book about it is to be republished next week entitled STONE of DESTINY. The First Minister has written the Foreword. Birlinn are publishing it at £9.99. I hope you enjoy it.

It has also been made into a film. It is on show on 21st June at the Edinburgh International Film Festival. It had a private showing at Cannes Film Festival where hundreds of films are shown. The professionals walk in and out of small cinemas like teenage boys looking for talent. They see a few frames and then depart. Unbelievably they stayed to the end then stood and cheered. Of course it had Bobby Carlyle and Bill Boyd in it as well as Kate Mara and Charlie Cox (Stardust). I think what they cheered was the story as well as the acting. Odeon and Sky have signed it up. They love it. It will go on general release in the autumn. Charles Martin Smith wrote the script and directed it. Quite simply he is one of Holywood’s geniuses.

It is about four nice youngsters who set out to make a point against a great Empire, the British Empire. It is about how they get into trouble and stick together and get one another out of trouble. It is about faith in the ideal of a small country, whatever its name, wherever it is situated. It is about ordinary people against authority. It is about all humankind today. Charlie Smith has made it universal and forever.

In this film there are no car chases, no explosions, no swear words, no sex, there are no special effects, no guns, no one even gets a sock on the jaw. It is about people being kind to one another in adversity and winning through for a high ideal. No wonder these hardened film moguls at Cannes stood and cheered and signed it up. They had seen the thing that the modern cinema has lost. They had seen the decency of young people trying to do something brave. I am terribly glad I was one of those young people all those years ago.

I hope you will like my book and at Christmas go to see my film. Both are called STONE of DESTINY. It has been worth living to eighty-two to see all this. Luck was always with us. It was with us again when Charles Marin Smith read my book and made it into this film.

by Ian Hamilton

Today on television I watched the greatest show on earth. I watched the Trooping of the Colour.

The precision of the marching, the brass bands, the blare of the trumpets merging into the harmony of music, all these took my breath away. So did the gleam of the flanks of the horses, the faultlessness of it all, the counter marching, the glory. It would be the pride of any nation who could do it but none else can. This is the United Kingdom at its most wonderful. Only dullards could not be moved by it; and maybe also those who cannot see any beauty in a United Kingdom institution. They may be jealous of their praise. I’m not. I praise it unstintingly. Yet it raises questions.

These are questions only unionists can answer. Why is all this splendour confined to London? This is still a United Kingdom of two countries. (I neglect for a moment conquered Wales and occupied Northern Ireland. They can speak for themselves.) Scotland and England stand alone in the Union, two equal countries united by a Treaty of Union. Scotland did not merge into England nor England into Scotland. We are an equal party in an equal partnership. Why then is the Trooping of the Colour confined to London? Why does the ceremonial not sometimes come to Scotland? We take the casualties. We should also sometimes take the show. Can the unionists justify London taking it all?

I can hear their answer. They will say that it is traditional that these events be held in London. I answer. Whatever the nature of a union, whether between man and woman or nation and nation, adjustments must be made. If not then the union will fail. London gobbles all. This may have been tolerable before devolution but it is tolerable no longer. Edinburgh is once again a capital city. Scotland is a nation recognised both in law and in fact. One obvious thing is lacking. We lack the splendour that go with ancient nationality. What have the unionists, particularly the militarily inclined unionists, to say to that assertion?

While I wait for their answer I will make some further observations. Since devolution we are slowly developing our own pageantry. George Reid as Returning Officer recalled the old custom of the Riding of the Parliament. He recalled it in a new form. Now every four years young people come to Edinburgh from all over the country for what has become the State Opening of Parliament. Be sure it is also in the Queen’s diary. She comes every fourth year too. At the age of eighty-one she clambered into a helicopter to greet Alex Salmond as First Minister. Let it not be forgotten that she did so when Blair and Brown, her first ministers in England, were both refusing to speak to the duly elected First Minister of Scotland. Questions of republicanism can come later. At the moment we are a United Kingdom monarchy so let us have some of the spectacle Royal governance entails. What have you unionists to say to these suggestions?

Let us have the Trooping of the Colour in Queen’s Park. That is what it was laid aside for. Queen Victoria reviewed her troops there. Many of us had an ancestor at the Wet Review. Let us have a Trooping every four years as our new Parliament convenes. Too difficult to arrange? Eh? Then here’s another suggestion. How about a squadron of the Blues and Royals, the Toffs’ Own? The Royal Mile once heard the clatter of iron shod hooves and could hear it again. What’s the use of Royalty if not for show? And while we’re at it could we not bring back our troops from Iraq to dress in red tunics and parade about a bit. Not possible? It is, you know. In my time as an advocate they paraded outside Inverness and Aberdeen High Courts, were inspected by the judge, and then posted sentries round the High Court buildings. That was before we had a Parliament. Now they would be better employed outside our Parliament House than pursuing an illegal war in a laager outside Basra.

These are questions for those unionists still among us. They are for those who try to put a boundary to the march of this nation to independence.

What have they to say?

 A play for a kettle drum, a man’s voice and three women.

A week or two ago I was invited to write a short play for the Ninth Wave Theatre Company of Taynuilt. They intend to put on several short plays for the visit of the international Clan MacIntyre Society. It visits Taynuilt and district in July.

Scene. The amphitheatre before the walls of the ancient iron foundry at Taynuilt.

Time the present.

The kettle drum plays. A man and three women step out of the crowd of visitors

Man.  These walls saved England and by saving   England saved civilisation.

First W.  (Well dressed .) You Scots can never stop boasting, can you?

Man  Horatio Nelson himself claimed that every cannonball fired at Trafalgar came from this foundry.

 (HE retreats into the audience)

First W          EVERY cannonball! Had he counted them?

Second w       I’ve heard that too. This was the most famous foundry for cannon balls for England.

Third w          And I would always believe Lord Nelson. Lord Nelson saved England.

Second w       That’s why we celebrate Trafalgar Day.

Third w          Don’t you celebrate Trafalgar Day here in Scotland?

First w (Backing off) Of course we do. It was a British victory.

Second w           Trafalgar Square in the heart of London is his great memorial.

First W (Triumphantly)   But not his first one. His first one’s here in Taynuilt.

Third W.  (Speaking to the whole group) It’s in the itinerary. We go there
next.

Second w.        How far is it?

First w.            Just over the hill beyond these walls.
(They turn back to the foundry)

Second W.       This place must have taken some building.

Third W.           The walls are as thick as the wooden walls of England.

First w.             These stones must have taken years to quarry.

Second w.         Unless they were taken from older buildings.

First W.            What older buildings?

Third w.            Look round. This place must have been settled for centuries.

Second w.        Where would they have lived? There are no ruined crofts near the foundry.

First w.            These Gaelic people bred like animals. They lived in holes in the ground.

The kettle drum plays.

( All three women freeze. The first to break the freeze is First w.)

Scene.   The same.

Time.  Past indefinite.

First w. (Takes off her coat and kicks off her shoes. She is now dressed in a kirtle and is bare footed. The other two women follow)

First w.         For a thousand years we lived here in peace and in our own way of life.

Second w      From here to the shores of Loch Etive there was only the cries of children and the songs of us all.  
 
First w. (Wondering) The houses that were once here are all gone.

Third wo.       Remember Alastair and Jean lived over there.

First wo.        And Peter in the house over yonder taught me the clarsach.

Second wo.    Remember how rich we were. No child went hungry.

First wo.        And when it wasn’t the clarsach there was Lachlan with the   Pibroch Mhor

Third wo.       And the fine times we had high up on Cruachan at the summer sheilings.

Second w.     We sang our songs. We farmed the land. We cut the peats.

First w.         We had the black cattle. We were rich in cattle.

Second w.     Remember when we were children we had to herd them from the corn?

Third w.        Remember the row we got the day we went to play and the black cow strayed.

First w.        And then the strangers came?

Second W.   And we welcomed them as we always welcomed strangers.

Third w.       And still would.

Second w.    Aye. If there were any of us left. For this is all a dream.

Third wo.     Then let us dream on.

First w. (Patting a corner stone) This was the hearthstone of John MacIntyre of Ichrachan. Do you remember how he played the fiddle?

Third w. (Patting another stone) This was the hearthstone of Rob Sinclair of Killiespickell. Him of the fifteen children.

Second w.        And not all of them his wife’s! (They chuckle)

First W.           He used to boast there had been Sinclairs on Loch Etiveside before the Flood!

 (All three chuckle at the memory)

First w> (Patting a stone) And this was the headstone of my own father, Donald Macyntyre  of  Laraig whose house was burned over his dying head by the Royal Navy.

A man    (Shouting from the crowd) Shame! The Royal Navy saved civilisation.

First W.         We saw the Royal Navy here on Loch Etive.

Second w.      Look down there to the mouth of the river.

Third w.         We trusted them when they came as friends.

First w.          Then the press gangs came.

(SHE advances so that she is no longer speaking in the past with her friends but making a direct statement)

First W.         On the two hundredth anniversary of the Battle of Trafalgar the Royal Navy said that one third of Nelson’s sailors were Scots.

Second w. (Advancing)     From Southend of Cantyre

Third w. (advancing)         By Carloway of Lewis

Second W.                      Through the Pentland Firth and south by Ratray Head.

First woman            The press gangs came and took the men.

Second w.            And left the women and children to fend for themselves.

(The women resume their group conversation)

First w.       These are hard times with no man to work the land or fish the sea.

Second w.    Hungry are the people and the children die of want.

Third w.       Where is Hector who might still fight to save us?

First w.        He is gone on the mountain,
                  He is lost to the forest,
                  Like a summer-dried fountain,
                  When our need is the sorest

Second w.    But the foundry remained.

First w. (Bitterly) They needed the cannonballs to save their civilisation.

Second w.     There were no men left to work the foundry

First W.         It was then the strangers came again.

Third W.        And the charcoal burners took the forests.

Second w.     They needed the charcoal for the foundry.

First W.         They brought in six hundred southerners who were strangers to our ways.

(The following scene is done as a chant. Woman after woman.)

1They took the stones of our houses to build their foundry.2 They burned our forests to make charcoal and the land went sour. 3They slaughtered our cattle to feed their workmen.4They drove us to work in their foundry until we took to the hills and hid.5 And the press gangs took the men who would have saved us.

(Man’s voice from the crowd.) Proud are we in Scotland that we helped to save civilisation.

First w.        Gone from among us are the men who walked proud.

Second W    From Rannoch Moor to the sea they burned our forests to make their charcoal.

Third w.       They desolated our land to make their foundry.

Second w.    And then they left us for the Lairds to evict.
                                                                                       
First w.        Empty are the glens that the Gaels once sang in.
                  By the hearthstone of my people there is laughter  no more. Silent is the house. By the fallen lintel
only the nettle grows.

(Man’s voice from the crowd)

England expects every man will do his duty.
First w.       No Gael ever needed a Southerner to tell him to do his duty.

   The kettle drum plays

Third w.       England beat France.

First w. (Bitterly) And saved civilisation

Second w           Look round Taynuilt to see the cost.

Thirdw.              War takes men.

Second w.          Peace does not bring them back.

First w.              There’s deer upon the mountain
                         But where are now the men.

Third wo.            Where have they gone? Who are they now?

First w.               They are the Americans.

Second w            And the Canadians

Third W.             And the Australians

First w.               They are the visitors who return every year.
                                                                                  
Second w.           Looking for something they can never find

Third W.             They still call themselves by the old names

(As the First woman makes the next speech the other two make a background with the ancient names of Argyll)

 Macdougal, MacIntyre, MacColl, MacNab, MacArthur, MacDonald MacSomerled. MaCKelvie MacEachern, MacFadden, MacFarlane, MacGregor, MacCallum, MacNaughton.

First w.        They return to their land as strangers. Where once they dwelt as people they now search for their roots. In the glens of their fathers their voices are echoes. Gone are the simple homes of the Gael. Broken the roof trees and cold are the hearthstones. Argyll of the Gael is Gaelic no more. Scattered they were by those sworn to protect them. 

Man’s voice from the crowd.

                     STOP!       These walls saved civilisation.

Third w.       Whose civilisation?

Second w.    Whose civilisation?

First w.         Whose civilisation?

There is a long roll on the drum and then the drummer exits with….

the three women who gather their discarded clothes and exeunt.

Ends

By Ian Hamilton 

The last few years of the Stewart Dynasty were so disastrous for Scotland that they were known as ‘the killing times’. It was under the Stewarts, and particularly under Charles 11 that London domination began. It has continued ever since. Why then do we have this silly romanticism about BPC?

BPC was an Italian on the make. Every Italian immigrant since has given us more. Ice cream comes to mind. BPC brought only destruction. A few thousand Gaels, conscripted by their lairds on pain of eviction, attempted a coup which mercifully failed. The thought of a return to monarchical government from London is an absurdity. So also is the BPC cult. A few old Edinburgh ladies now rise for him in romantic rebellion, and fight for him in the safety of their little meetings. None takes them seriously. The ’45 was never a threat to the United Kingdom. What was sought by BPC was direct London authoritarian rule. The end of the Union was not his aim. Culloden was a Scottish victory.

The tragic history of the Gael does not begin with the victory at Culloden at which as many Gaels fought for common sense as fought for BPC. It begins with the conscription of Highlanders to fight in England’s wars. Indeed positive advantages for the Gaels followed Culloden. Gaelic society had never evolved beyond tribalism. Such a system of local government is open to abuse and abused it was. A system of hereditary judges is clearly not the best way of administering justice when it includes capital punishment. The abolition of the power of the lairds by The Hereditary Jurisdiction Act of 1747 was long overdue and Westminster is to be commended for its passing.

Had matters rested there the Highlander might have had a chance of changing his habits. His methods of agriculture had made no progress for a thousand years. That does not mean they would not have improved now that the evils of tribalism had been greatly reduced. Modern farming methods only found their way into Lowland Scotland well into the nineteenth century. A glance at the life of Robert Burns illustrates my point. It was not just that he was a rotten farmer. Of course he was a rotten farmer. No efficient farmer stops his plough to lament a daisy or talk to a mouse. It is clear that the very methods of Ayrshire farming were ready for improvement. These improvements would have come in the Highlands also but for one thing. That thing is usually and usefully blamed on sheep-farming. I suggest that the Napoleonic Wars were an even greater curse.

The English ruling class and their Scotch cousins were really frightened by Napoleon. They could see their power and wealth in danger. In the Highlands conscription was rigorously enforced. The reputation of the Highland Scot as a fighter was his own undoing. You sent your sons to fight or you were evicted. General Wolfe’s well known aphorism needs only passing reference here. ‘And no great mischief if they fall.’ The Scottish fighting man was as expendable then as he is today in Iraq. It was while he was away fighting that the Clearances began. Furthermore the defeat of Napoleon did for the Highlander completely. It confirmed the hegemony of the aristocracy. They could do what they liked and they did. A typical example is the Leveson-Gower House of the Dukes of Sutherland. Strathnaver is the example usually taken but it is only an example. It happened elsewhere. To use a common phrase it happened all over the place.

It is against this background that I have been asked to write a fifteen minute play to entertain members of the Clan MacIntyre Society who are shortly to visit the parts of the Highlands where I live. Taynuilt, the centre of their territory, has a direct association with the Napoleonic Wars, and particularly with Lord Nelson. I have long condemned the uncritical worship of English heroes by us Scots. One country’s hero is often its neighbour’s villain. So is it with Lord Nelson. The first memorial to him was put up in Taynuilt by incoming English foundrymen. In a letter to the Herald on the two-hundredth anniversary of his famous victory I said that I would celebrate Trafalgar Day by pissing on the memorial. It is the most memorable thing I have ever written. People still stop me in West Highland Streets and ask if they can join me.

Plays should speak for themselves. If they are good plays they speak for us all. Soon I‘ll publish the play here, beneath this prologue. It is either a good play or it is nothing.

For every rise in the price of petrol a soldier dies in Iraq.

The price of oil shares stands firm.

So do our boys.

So do the Iraqis.

All’s fine the telly tells us.

We fight with blood and telly.

But only blood remains.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

Will no one comment?

Ian
 

The sons of freedom drie their weird
And huvny loss nor gain.
Til we keep tryst wi Scotland
An Scotland’s born again.

Chris Grieve wrote something like this many years ago.
Why are the sons of freedom dying in foreign wars while at home their hearths grow cold?

Ian

by Ian Hamilton

Total belief in anything is treason against everything. I owe that position to my Christian upbringing. I ended not believing a bloody word. One great truth remains. Never believe what anyone tells you; especially if he’s a minister of religion. A minister taught me fear of Hell. He taught me so well that when I was nine years old I went into convulsions and had to be taken home in a taxi. I suffered from claustrophobic fear. The worst crimes are committed by those who know they are right.

It was my parents who made me go to church. They grew up in an age of certainty. The Great War changed all that and in 1925 I was born into a world of doubts. I have had doubts ever since. Physically I was like any other baby, all covered in blood and snot. I cannot claim to like the new born young. I do not like them until they have ideas.

The first idea a child has is possession.  ‘That’s mine,’ says the child very early on. The next idea is less corporeal. It is a moral judgement. Every child makes it. ‘That’s not fair,’ says the child first with regard to its own affairs; a little later with regard to someone else.  Ownership and fairness are the two basic cerebral ideas of the human race. Other animals have a glimmering of possession. We alone of fairness. If I could frame a definition of fairness I would be one with the Greek philosophers. Yet I bet you children said ‘It’s not fair,’ before ethics were first discussed by the Greeks two thousand five hundred years ago. My bet is that on 8th May 585 BC when there was an eclipse of the sun some child shouted, ‘It’s not fair. It’s getting dark too early.’ The date of the eclipse is traditionally given as the start of the Greek Enlightenment. Children had a system of ethics before the philosophers. There is no proof of that, only a logical extrapolation backwards from present day observation.

This book is about possession and fairness. The former has never much interested me; the latter made me a lawyer and passionate for freedom. If you’re not free you can’t think. If you’re not free you’re not allowed to say, ‘It’s not fair’. I’m passionate about being fair. I’m passionate about being free.

………………………………………………………………………………

These are the first words of the book I’m writing. It will be a long time before it’s finished. It is an autobiography of ideas.

I’m eighty-two. Everyone should publish their autobiograhy of ideas and maybe I haven’t all that more time.

I publish these ideas because I was flattered to learn thet James Robertson, author of the Testament of Gideon Mack, reads my blog.

If such an author reads what I have to say then maybe it’s worth saying.

IRH 

Dear Editor,

You ask why I have cancelled my subscription.

In the last few years your commentators have progressively lost touch with reality. You won’t have noticed this because you are part of the problem. You are a local paper and nothing else. Once people looked to London as the capital of a United Kingdom. This is no longer so. It is now not even the capital of England. There is no one there to call out in time of crisis, ‘Speak for England,’ as Richard Amery cried in the Commons in 1940. I loved England then. I still do. But its former capital has become a bloated city state divorced from us all.

You and your readers have no identity. Once you were English, now you don’t know who you are. You claim to be wealthy. All you have is expensive houses bought by wealth produced elsewhere. It is recorded as ‘earned’ in London but that means nothing. An example is North Sea oil. Whether it is Scots or English oil doesn’t matter to you. It is not London’s oil yet you claim it as your own. So bloated and conscienceless have you become that you are embezzling from the lottery fund charities to help pay for the purely London event of the 2012 Olympics. More UK money is spent on Londoners per capita than is spent anywhere else, yet your Eric Heffer would have it otherwise. To the question, ‘Why should London have so much spent on it?’ the only reply I have ever seen in the Spectator is, ‘It’s the capital innit?’ I have more complaints.

Once there was the British Empire and we were proud to belong to it. (This is not the place to debate if we should have been proud.) Glasgow was the second city of the Empire. Although it had worse slums than Calcutta the McChattering classes did very well out of it. Now we don’t have an empire and there is no reason to look to you for government. Frankly the English are not very good at Government. Indeed so bad are you that the town of Berwick recently voted to leave England and come back to Scotland. Your politics are tired, and so is your comment.

Your comment is obsessed by the ‘major’ political parties. There is no difference in principle between them. Indeed so bankrupt are these parties that there is a suggestion that they should be state funded. The only state funded political parties I remember in a long life are those of mid twentieth century Germany and Russia. The Spectator supports the whole corrupt system that stands for nothing except who shall be in power in an oligarchy. I’m no longer supporting a magazine that promotes state corruption.

I turn now to the dismal science of economics. Once the Scottish economy may have needed the assistance of London capital. This is fiercely debated but let it stand as a feature of the past. That time has gone forever and you haven’t noticed. We live in a global economy. In such an economy a great city state like London no longer helps us. It competes with us. We are starting to do quite well from inward investment, attracted by our own Scottish Government, and with no help from the numerous UK embassies and consulates throughout the world. We need our own commercial attaches. Now is the time for all UK embassies to be apportioned between Scotland and the rest of the UK. They are a UK asset and we want control of our share of them. Scotland Week in the States and Canada is not enough. We need permanent representation. Would you comment on this? But please not with one of Mr Heffer’s hissy fits.

Have a look at the new self-confident Scotland. We have a Government pledged to independence. We are quite willing to share things with you. A truly joint monarchy appeals to many Scots. If that is to happen we shall want our share of the pageantry. We have revived such things as the Riding of Parliament, an old custom that now brings people from all over Scotland to the opening of our Parliament. The Queen comes too. Your London myopia has so far kept you from joining us.

As for our politics the Opposition comes from three unionist parties. Their only policy is to press for more power for our devolved Parliament. Despite Prime Minister Brown’s frantic, and funny, attempts to make us all British we know that we live in a separate Nation. The constituent parts of the United Kingdom are unbolting themselves. This is the most important happening in three hundred years of English and Scottish history yet you seldom comment coherently on it.

Your paper is a local rag. London has lost its identity. You don’t know who you are. You aren’t English. The English of the Shires would now disown you. It was you Londoners, in a desperate attempt to break the Scottish National Party, who without a vote from England, devolved power to Scotland. Blair insolently said, ‘Power devolved is power retained.’ He was wrong. Your rather silly old constitution has been left with a hole in the middle. The West Lothian Question can never be solved. In any hung Parliament a handful of Scots are going to take over the whole governance of England. And the joke is that these same Scots will have no power in matters affecting their own constituents. You will become our colony. We nearly govern you now, though we’re rather ashamed of the people we have sent you. They would never make it at Holyrood.
 
That’s why I won’t renew my subscription. I love England dearly, but London isn’t England. For the bloated greedy London whose voice you are I will no longer bang a saxpence. Not a bawbee.

Ian Hamilton

Argyll and Bute District Council has set aside a million pounds to eliminate dandruff from the heads of the staff of Oban’s new multi million pound International Airport.

The Dandruff Commission, as the initiative is to be known, is chaired by an Oban Councillor whose name is being kept secret.

‘We cannot name the chairperson,’ said the Commission’s anonymous publicity supremo. ’The Commission may be involved in litigation with  an Oban hairdresser so the matter will become sub judice.’

Asked when the first scheduled air services would begin at Oban International he replied,

‘How can we think of scheduled air services while our staff are suffering the monstrous ravages of dandruff?’

Ian’s blog will name the Councillor later.