Open

I like to think I'm open minded and plan on proving the point in this brief post about Scotland.

This evening, Ian and I were discussing how Scotland would be better off as a sovereign state within the European Union. We'd have the Euro, we'd not have to worry about having a Conservative government and the road signs would display distances and speeds in kilometres. We'd more than likely be a republic, too. Fabulous? Yes, for Scotland.

But, you see, dear reader, I'm a unionist at heart. Without a left-leaning Scotland, England, Wales and Northern Ireland would lurch even further to the right. The voice of the Daily Mail reader, although a minority, would have no reasoned socialist viewpoint with which to argue and it would all go horribly wrong South of the border. But why should I worry if I'm living in the Republic Of Scotland? Because I care about the rest of my country, I suppose. Just as any Scottish nationalist worth his or her salt would worry about something dreadful happening in Edinburgh, even if he or she lived in Aberdeen and never left the granite city.

Although I'm far from patriotic, I still find the very idea of having my country broken up into several parts as upsetting as any Scottish nationalist might balk at Scotland breaking up into Pictland/Kingdom of Alba, Strathclyde, Northumbria and giving the islands back to the Norwegians.

Yes, Scotland might be more progressive and better off leaving it's English yoke behind, but it just feels selfish to me. Like a lottery winner leaving his or her spouse on finding they've hit the jackpot.

"I'm leaving you, now. I don't need you any more."

If we did leave the union and be the cause of its break up, I'd hope the reasons were plucked from a higher branch of the intelligence tree. I'm thinking of the time the Baltic states left the USSR and played their part in its break-up.

Yesterday, the EU announced it had given up on the UK and will no longer force us to use metric measurements. Great. So now our children can be taught to measure in feet, inches, yards and miles; in fluid ounces, pints quarts and gallons.

How many yards are there in a mile, again?

I'm being pulled in two directions, dear reader. The Euro lies ahead of me, LSD behind me. Which is the best way to go?

So, the EU might well have given up on the UK. But they'd not, I'm sure, give up on Scotland. Perhaps it's time Scotland gave up on England, Wales and Northern Ireland.

Did I really say that?

Yesterday/today

I can't believe there's so little in the news today about the terrorist attacks of 11th September 2001. Next to nothing.

I watched a rerun of Fahrenheit 9/11 on television last night, there's a documentary on Channel 4 this evening about the World Trade Center and after a good dig, I found a story about 9/11 on the BBC news site.

Has the whole thing been forgotten already?

Perhaps it has. Perhaps the mess we've made in Iraq and the mess we're about to start with Iran are more important issues.

Ian and I went to Culross yesterday. It's a wee town over the water in Fife. More a villiage, actually, although Wikipedia describes it as a city.

I wouldn't say we were bored, we've never been that, but we did spend the morning wondering what we'd do in the afternoon. A wee surf of the internet and the National Trust for Scotland website was all we needed, throwing ideas at us left, right and centre.

The journey was quite short, certainly less than an hour, though not by much. My first port of call was the public toilet. I was desperate for a waz. But I couldn't go in! No! It was ghastly! Dark, stinking and wet. Instead, I did my business in the bushes, eyes darting all around the place to see if someone was coming. I hate doing a tiddle out in the open or, at least, not in a toilet. The reason? There's no way of washing my hands afterwards! So guess what came next? A picnic of sandwiches, Ryvita Minis and fruit! All finger food.

Still, at least I was putting bacteria from my own body back into my mouth and not germs from someone else.

Culross is a beautiful place, almost preserved in time. The only giveaways being the odd car and a bus stop. Being members of the NTS, we got in to Culross Palace for free. Not only that, we were entitled to a guided tour of the town, too (highlights: Town House, Captain's cottage and The Study)! Our escort was a wonderful and charming young lady who was a mine of historical knowledge. I commented to her that Culross is like a living outdoor museum. Indeed it is and I shall return to it as soon as I have someone here to whom I might show it off!

The palace was fully equipped with period furniture, fixtures and fittings and a functioning kitchen garden! And how enlightening that was! There were enormous thistles, herbs and vegetables growing rampant. Back inside the palace, we came upon a herbal remedy exhibition. One exhibit was advice on how to cure diarrhoea. With an egg. And the advice wasn't to eat it. Edna was shocked and made a note in the comments book.

We made our way to Fife over the Kincardine bridge. Our return home was made, firstly, in an Easterly direction and then south over the Forth road bridge. Before going home, we popped in to a Nissan Garage near Ikea in Midlothian and had a look at a peculiarly named vehicle. It was quite nice, actually. I was given the impression we'd get a lot of car for our money. We might buy it. Either that, the Honda Civic or an Audi A3.

News

Look what I've just seen as I glanced out of my bedroom window, dear reader!

Yes, the owners of the house next door have put it up for sale!  And by the look of the particulars, the lady next door has been doing a spot of tidying up and even thought to take the washing from the line which had been outside and exposed to the elements for weeks!

I hope the place is sold quickly.  No longer will I have to hear her shouting and swearing at her poor children, her vile transistor radio-sounding hi-fi blaring out at two in the morning or the slamming of doors at breakfast time as she rows with her husband!

The lady who lives on the other side of my neighbour will be as gleeful as I am, I'm sure.

Now, If I hadn't drunk the last bottle of champagne in the house on Saturday night, I'd be popping the cork at this very moment.

If you always dreamed, dear reader, of living next door to Minge and within spitting distance of J K Rowling, clickez-vous ici.

Also in the news...

Alex Salmond has started what he's calling a big conversation.  I call it a sly move, but who am I to speculate upon the shenanigans of a rat?

His chances are remote, and he knows this.  So why press ahead?  What's his wee game?  Win or lose, the break up of the union is his end game and wants to keep the idea fresh in our minds for as long as possible.

He'll succeed in that, I'm sure, especially if we as the United Kingdom elect a conservative government next time around.  A British Tory governement would be too much for many wavering Scots to stomach and I can predict, with reasonable ease, what the result of any independence referendum might be.

But of course, Mr Salmond is an awful way off from a referendum.  With a parliament well short of a fifty per cent nationalist majority, it's probably never going to happen.  The SNP like to cheerily snort and cackle about winning the election in May.  But I can't really see it as a victory.  With a margin of a handful of seats, the electoral equation gives a very curious answer to the SNP and the voters.  The numbers of Tory, Labour and Liberal Democrat seats remained pretty static.  The SNP took their additional seats from the Greens, Solidarity and the SSP - all of whom are also nationalist parties.

O grave, where is thy victory?

Other supposed successes for Salmond include populist moves like saving A&E departments, the abolition of prescription charges for people with chronic illnesses and tolls on the Forth and Tay bridges.  Though remember, dear reader, two things:

1. The money for these measures has to come from somewhere
2. The Scottish Parliament has tax raising powers

The Scottish political scene is going to be a very lively and interesting place over the next few years.  Lots of ifs, buts and maybes, though.  Does Alex Salmond have the balls to go for legislation that may be voted down by the parliament?  Does the parliament have the balls to go for a vote of no confidence in the government/executive and First Minister if the SNP lose a vote in the chamber, prompting a Scottish parliamentary election?

Breaking up Britain would be a pointless and ridiculous leap in the dark.  Not in Scotland's interest at all.

Help!

I'm still coughing for Britain, there's a suspected case of foot and mouth in Kent and E.coli in Paisley.  Is it just me, or are we all dying?

Food

I like food. Look at the size of me. My adoration of all things edible is blatantly obvious.

I say all things, but that's not strictly true. I don't really like eating meat at the best of times and most certainly will not eat offal. As if eating a dead body were bad enough! Many people don't stop there. No. They delve into the body caivty, reach in and grab the poor creature's organs and then proceed to cook and eat them! Oh, for the love of our dear, sweet, Lord Jesus Christ!

In fifteen days, wee Minge will be jetting off with Phyllis to the land of the rising sun. I adore Japan. I do. I love it. It's fabulous on so many levels, as close to visiting another planet as I'm ever likely to get, in this incarnation, at least. However, I have, on previous visits to that most delicious of Asian island nations, had cause for concern.

During a train journey, during 2004, I believe, going from Kyoto to Hiroshima, I opened my bento box to find something which looked not dissimmilar to a grilled mouse. On another occasion, when probing some flesh in a bowl, I heard someone make a, "Miaow!" Not knowing who was making the cat sounds, I was in no position to ask if my meal contained anything feline. On my last visit, while staying in Okinawa, Ray and Susan took us to a sushi restaurant where Ray consumed vast quantities of crab's organs.

I must say, though, that these examples of weird food are not the tip of the iceberg, but the full story of vile cuisine in Japan. For the most part, everything is delicious, beautifully presented and gore-free. Indeed, of the many reasons I have to look forward to returning to Japan, the food is very near the top of my list. In fact, second only to seeing my sexymutha. There are many more weird things one might consume outwith Japan's border.

Menudo, often eaten in Mexico to cure a hangover, is a popular tripe dish. Here, in Scotland, haggis (containing heart, liver and lungs) is widely eaten - and in vast quantities. In Wisconsin, animals' bollocks are deep fried and eaten. I kid you not, dear reader. Forget Kentucky Fried Chicken! Wisconsin Fried Balls, according to aficionados, are very tasty!

ELDERON, Wis. (AP) - Around here, it may be tough to pass up anything deep-fried.

Wisconsinites have deep-fried cheese curds, candy bars and Twinkies. They now have deep-fried livestock testicles, too.

More than 300 people paid US$5 for all-you-can-eat goat, lamb and bull testicles Saturday at the ninth annual Testicle Festival at Mama's Place Bar and Grill in Elderon in central Wisconsin.

"Once you get over the mental (aspect) of what you're eating, it's just like eating any other food, and it tastes good," Buster Hoffman said.

Festival founder Nancy Fenske said the festival grew out of her late husband Roger's birthday party 12 years ago. They decided to have "a nut fry" at Mama's Place after bringing back lamb fries from a trip to Montana.

The event grew every year and now they fry up to 45 kilograms of testicles, she said.

"What else can you do in a small town?" Fenske said.

Butch Joubert, 58, likes the parts sandwiched between bread with tartar sauce. They're not so different from regular meatballs also served at the festival, he said.

"After a few beers, you can't really tell the difference," Joubert said.

Forty five kilos of testicles, indeed! Would make any gay man's eyes water, even Jonah Falcon!

My epicurean fears about Japan pale into insignificance.

In just a little over a fortnight, Minge could be eating in any one of these establishments:

Vampire
Alice
Princess
Prison
or
Ninja

Alan and Junya (his beau), have extended to us an invitation to join them for an all-Nippon meal!

Which one would you choose, my little maid?

SNP

Oh, fuck.

2/3

Guten morgen!

About two thirds of the Scottish Parliamentary election results are in, dear reader. Labour are ahead by a nose, but that all looks to change with the SNP continuing to make headway.

I stayed up until 02:30 to see the results come in. Sadly, one can only take so much waffle. The big news stories of the night were not the results themselves, they were few and far between, but the numbers of spoiled/rejected ballot papers, a ferry getting into trouble in the Clyde, a helicopter unable to fly and a mad-man with a golf club at a polling place in the West of Edinburgh.

Even Glenn Campbell couldn't keep my eyelids open.

It looks like Alex Salmond will be our next First Minister. This is the dawning of a new age for Scotland, an age where homophobia, wife-beating and the fondling of teenagers are acceptable. Welcome to the world of Alex Salmond, something of a Fourth Reich.

Unlucky

Yes, thirteen is an unlucky number, dear reader - and may I present thirteen very dubious people. Thirteen reasons not to vote SNP in the Scottish Parliamentary and local elections today.

A party that is propped up by, funded by and littered with homophibic bigots and a man who thinks it's perfectly alright to hit his wife is a party that does not deserve to govern this beautiful land.

But...

According to most opinion polls, the SNP look likely to become the largest party after today's ballot. It's a scary thought, but it might happen. If so, would the last person to leave Scotland please turn off the lights.

Thank you.

Oh, and by the way, I weigh exactly twelve stones today.

24

This time tomorrow, 22:04, dear reader, the polls will have just closed in the Scottish Parliamentary and local elections for 2007.

We have less than 24 hours to save Scotland from Alex Salmond, from the SNP, from four years of uncertainly and chaos and from a lifetime of social and economic downturn.

It's as simple as that.

The choice is ours.

A vote for the SNP means an increase in living expenses, an end to the tram network in Edinburgh and Ian losing his job. A vote for Scottish Labour means more social and economic improvements for all, investment in transport and public services and Ian keeping his job.

Let's hope people think about the consequences of an SNP vote before marking their ballot papers tomorrow.

As things are so horribly scary, I've decided to withdraw support for Margo. Some projections estimate there may be only one seat in the balance. If Margo is re-elected, in a vote for First Minister, she's bound to go for Alex and not Jack. So, I'm sorry, Margo, I love you dearly, but cannot vote for you tomorrow.

I've decided to vote for Labour in both the constituency and region. The Liberal Democrat, Stuart Bridges, will get my #1 vote for the council. I'll probably give my #2 vote to Eric Barry, Scottish Labour - and stop there. I cannot vote for a party with nationalist leanings, simply because they will support the SNP and refuse to vote Tory on moral grounds, so all the others are out.

Scotland is electing its coucillors by the STV system for the first time this year. In my case, three former wards have been amalgamated, Firrhill, Fairmilehead and Colinton. Three councillors will be elected now, instead of the usual one. My vote will only elect one councillor, but I will take advantage of the STV system and list my two favourites in numerical order. That way, if my preferred candidate, Stuart Bridges, is not elected, my vote will go to Eric Barry. Of course, he might not get elected either, though this is unlikely. I should give my vote #3 to one of the Tories standing, if only to keep the SNP out, but I just can't bring myself to do it. The SNP and Scottish Conservatives are as nasty as each other.

Super Thursday kicks off an interesting couple of days, dear reader. I hope, though, interesting only and not horrendous.

I could be a foreigner in my own country. How morbid does that sound?

Beltane

Fever

Election fever, dear reader, really is at fever pitch.

I've just come back from my local post office. Almost home, I bumped into (not literally) my local Liberal Democrat council election candidate. I confided in him my sexuality, how upset I was with the SNP not responding to me four years ago when writing to them about civil partnerships and the lack of movement on equality and other social issues since 2003.

The Liberal Democrat candidate, Stuart Bridges, told me that the little progress we have seen over the past fours years is all thanks to the Liberal Democrats' presence in the executive. Difficult to prove and difficult to believe, though I will give him benefit of the doubt.

And at least he's engaging with the local community. He's the only candidate to have knocked on a door so far - and was very much in favour of reinstating the South Suburban Railway here in Edinburgh.

This is good news. The Liberal Democrats want to open up the railway and extend the tram network. The SNP want Scotland to rely on North Sea oil and other fossil fuels and stop the tram project, if you'll excuse the pun, in its tracks.

So, you see, my love, twenty four hours is a very long time in politics. This morning, I was adamant that my votes will go to Labour and Margo MacDonald in the parliamentary election and Labour would get my #1 vote in the council elections. I'm now questioning this and may change my mind. I may not, of course, but I am thinking about it. Yes, even a jaded old socialist like myself might turn away from a Labour vote.

Still unsure what will swing it for me, but an enquiry into the 2003 constituency result probably provides the answer. Probably. Labour stands a greater chance in beating McLetchie, so I suppose I'll bung my X in their box. If the Liberal Democrats looked more likely, well, I'd bloody well vote for them. They don't, but am still considering my options. Thankfully, here in the South of Edinburgh, the SNP don't stand a chance in hell.

My dear, outlandish, fabulous and exciting friend, Alan, the one in Japan, not the one in Luton, is a nationalist. He's currently trying to encourage me and his other friends to vote for the SNP. I refuse to do so and on receiving an email from him this morning, I responded outlining my reasons why.

I'm sure Alan won't mind if I will reprint our exchange here, unedited (though I'd love to tinker):

Before you vote have a look at this. It's a non-biased economists guide to Scotland's viability to be an independent nation again. He states quite clearly that Scotland would be pretty much be the same outside the union as inside. It all depends on the policies put forward by succesive independent Scottish governments. Just as is the case now in the UK.

So, go on. Vote SNP, vote to be a nation again... You know you want to!

I saw Evan present that piece on the news about a week ago.

Basically, the crux of his argument then, was, if Scotland leaves the Union, it will be worse of by £Xbillion. However, that sum is equal to the oil revenue it would receive from the North Sea... But what happens when the oil runs out, when it's too expensive to suck out or when no-one wants it?

And in any case, a reliance on fossil fuels is terrible. The SNP are simply giving more power to the Green Party argument over this.

I really do have an open mind about an independent Scotland. Although I do feel a certain sadness when any divorce is mentioned. But if it's best for the people, then it should at least be considered.

My huge problem is with Alex Salmond and the SNP.

First of all, there's the money the party took from Brian Souter. Half a million pounds. Half a million pounds from a vile, homophobic bigot. Taking money from Souter means that for a party in need of funds, they will shy away from legislation and policy in favour of equality in order to receive more cash from this vile little shit.

Second, Roseanna Cunningham and her homophobic views, her dreadful rant about gay people and the adoption of children. She thinks children aren't safe in our hands? I don't think Scotland's safe in the SNP's hands.

Then Fiona Hyslop, one of my Lothians MSPs. Of all the representatives with whom I corresponded over the civil partnerships debate, only she was adamant not to reply, not to state a view, not to stand up for equality, for one of her constituents. Christ, even the Tory, Lord James Douglas-Hamilton, took time to respond to me.

Then there's Alex Salmond himself. In the party election broadcast last night, he claimed the first vote is for First Minister. Wrong! The Parliament elects the First Minister. The first vote if for the election of a constituency MSP. I'm shocked that he's prepared to lie about it and that he's not got into trouble for it.

Also, his swagger, his sneering and the way he sems to constantly laugh at other politicians and journalists is horrible. He will do this in the political arena if we elect him. People will be disgusted at this vile behaviour and do Scotland's cause no end of harm.

Then there are the bizarre statements he makes. That an interest rate set in London is no good for someone paying their mortgage in Bathgate. Sure, ok. But Alec Salmond wants us to join the Euro. And an interest rate set in Frankfurt is better than one set in London? Je ne pense pas!

And that Scotland has no voice in the EU or in the UN and he wants us to be on an equal footing with England on these matters. So he thinks England has a voice in the EU and in the UN? What planet is he on?

He walked away from the parliament once. He stood down from the leadership and declared he'd never stand for it again... It's ok to change your mind, but in politics, people need assurances and clarity, not a change of direction every time the wind blows. His latest comment about re-joining the Union if it all goes horribly wrong is shameful. He doesn't know where he's taking us, if we might go into reverse or if England will want a new Union with us at some later date. I hated Thatcher, but at least one knew what one was getting with her. With Salmond, it's all guess work. Scotland's future is too important to be played with like this. Alex Salmond's constant deceptions will be seen through eventually. I just hope it's before tomorrow. Fingers crossed.

Now is not the time for a reckless gamble, now is the time for social and economic progress, neither of which we will get with a party in the pay of a nasty and homophobic fool. A Jew would not vote for the Nazi Party and I will not vote for the SNP. In the words of Ian Paisley, "Never, never, never!" Ha, ha, ha!

I'm actually in favour of joining the Euro, but his argument for it is bizarre and is no reason for breaking up the Union, a union that has served Scotland well, has served England well, has kept both from bankruptcy and made us the country we are today. However, if Union is bad for us or if we'd be better served an an independent Scotland, then the matter should at least be put to the people. But not through the SNP or with Alex Salmond, please!

If the only way to get a referendum on independence is with a nationalist executive, there are other parties one can vote for: Green, Solidarity and SSP are three which spring to mind! And my second vote is going to Margo MacDonald. I know which way she'd vote in a referendum debate in parliament, but she gets my vote nonetheless. Why? Because she's there on the issues that matter. She took time to write to me every time I've written to her. Because she cares.

The SNP do not.

I do think the SNP might end up as the largest party in Parliament after tomorrow, but I do think it will be a flash in the pan. I think it will be the result of an anti-Labour protest vote as parties tend to lose elections, not win them. I think that if the SNP is the largest party, they will make a horrid mess of our economy, never be re-elected again, wither and die.

As I said, independence is one issue (over which I genuinely do have an open mind) but Alex Salmond and the SNP are another.

I'm genuinely worried that after tomorrow, Scotland might be entering a new dark age.

For a brighter future, vote Scottish Labour.

Minge

xxx

Grounder

Some numbers are nice, dear reader, like 69. Some are horrible, like 666 for example. I'm just back from a trip to the nord-ouest of Scotland. It was decidedly 69, not a mention of 666.

Ian, the dogs and I left Edinburgh on Friday 27th April, quite early. It was grey, here, even misty and quite chilly. After a brief stop at Tesco to buy some drinks for the journey and to return some rotten oranges and lemons, we headed West and Loch Lomond.

The Loch was as beautiful as ever. A walk along the shore, a photograph or two taken, a few moments gazing at Ben Lomond... Feel the peace, brother. Before moving on, a walk through Luss was in order. Election fever had gripped the village. I saw at least one political poster, sadly, advertising the SNP. It really did spoil the look of the place, though, to be frank, electioneering of any kind, on behalf of any party would have spoiled Luss. I'm feeling like a bitch, today, dear reader, so I'll claim, true or not, that obviously only the SNP didn't care about ruining the beauty of this fabulous wee place.

Time to press on, with a brief stop at Rest And Be Thankful to enjoy the vista.

Before long, bellies rumbling, we found ourselves looking for some lunch-time goodies in Inveraray. The Co-op provided crusty bread, soft cheese, tomatoes and a wee drop of orange juice. We took the food to the edge of the loch for a rustic, al fresco feast. The eating was a pleasure, the drinking, slightly less so. The orange juice was housed in one of those vile bottles, a strange device facilitates the exit of the liquid into ones mouth, not too dissimilar to a washing up liquid bottle. One can suck or squeeze. Either is acceptable, though both is a vulgar experience with juices shooting into the gob.

Which do you prefer, hen? Sucking or squeezing?

Our next port of call was Dunstaffnage Castle, though only brief, before heading on to Oban and an ice-cream. April should be a cool month, my little maid. The latter half warmer than the first, yes, but 20ºc? It's never right! The first day of my Spring holiday, I'm suffering from heat exhaustion, eating an ice-cream and turning lobster red!

Oban is a very popular tourist spot. Scots come for a week or two or just a weekend. Others stay a while, some are just day-trippers. Like us. Who'd joined us last Friday, I can't be sure. There were many British accents to be heard and just as many foreign languages.

I'm beginning to recognise the Polish language when I hear it, now. It's actually quite beautiful. Sounding quite slavic, though not as harsh as Russian. There were quite a few Poles in Oban, working hard. It's strange, hearing Britons complain about Poles coming here and stealing their jobs. I might ask which is more common in the UK, idleness or xenophobia, bird, but I really can't be bothered with the debate.

Heading North from Oban, we crossed Loch Etive on the Connel Bridge, passing Castle Stalker before reaching our destination, The Ballachulish Hotel, Ballachulish. Very exciting for me. A lochside view... And! Our room featured a four poster bed. I'd never slept in one before! Exciting! Nice to be surrounded by wood when you're in bed, my love, and four long lengths, to boot! To add to my excitement, a jacuzzi bath. J'adore the bubbles, like bathing in champagne!

We ate in the hotel that evening. Very good food to be had after drinks. A campari soda for Minge, gin and tonic for Phyllis. I love campari. It tastes like pomegranates. A super bottle of shiraz accompanied our dinner. I was so drunk, I couldn't take a pudding. Yes, I could hardly believe it myself.

I like pudding. It's a word interchangeable with dessert here in the UK. In the United States of America, it means custard. And then they go and call Mr Whippy frozen custard! Strange, bizarre, fabulous. J'adore it. One thing, though, that I'm unsure about, don't know if it's fabulous or not, is the inability of Americans to pronounce the h in herb. What's that all about?

But I digress...

I slept like a baby that night, my love. We got up reasonably early, about half past seven, got washed, dressed, took the dogs for a short walk, just enough to do some yellow and brown before returning to the hotel for breakfast. I hardly eat a thing most mornings. Yes, I know breakfast is the most important meal of the day, but I usually skip it. Breakfast at the Ballachulish Hotel was designed, I think, for a dinosaur - a hungry dinosaur! I picked at the offerings, indulging in porridge, muffins, toast (with butter AND jam), yoghurt, fruit, fruit juice, coffee, potato scones, fried eggs, grilled tomatoes, fried mushrooms, pancakes... I ate like a pig. I opened my mouth to speak and began to grunt instead. Then I considered the beauty of a nose ring.

A full day was ahead of us, so a big breakfast was a good idea. A gigantic breakfast, though, was not. My tummy was sore, I was so full, and before long, I began farting like a Slitheen.

Heading for Ardnamurchan, we crossed lochs on bridges and ferries, stopping, here, there and what felt like everywhere, taking photographs of the beautiful scenery, sometimes with my constant companion, the Buddha, sometimes without, sometimes going off for a walk, sometimes standing still. A leisurely drive along the southern coast of the Ardamurchan peninsular brought us, within a few hours, to the Point of Ardnamurchan and a lighthouse, supposedly the most westerley point of the UK mainland. In fact, it is not. The most westerley point of the UK mainland is Corrachadh Mòr. A tour of the lighthouse was a must. The views from the top were outlandish. We were so lucky with the weather.

The peninsular is beautiful. In my opinion, the most beautiful part of Scotland, even more so than the well known and captivatingly beautiful places such as Eilean a' Cheò, Saint Andrews and The Black Isle. Unsurprisingly so, though, really, as the West of Scotland has some of the most wild geography to offer: Sea and freshwater lochs, islands, mountains, plains. What was surprising, to me, at any rate, was the level of population. I imagined an area of Scotland practically abandoned. Although by modern standards, for a rural location, Ardnamurchan's population is far from sparse. Villages, hamlets and farms appear in quick succession along the B8007 from Salen to the Point of Ardnamurchan. A wonderful life is to be had, I'm sure, if that's your bag, though don't expect even the basics such as radio reception, telephony and gas, let alone broadband internet, mobile telephone reception and the wonders of a local supermarket. Run out of milk, and you're buggered, hen.

Though do expect to find half the people living there are not Scottish, let alone local. Most of the folk with whom we spoke were from Wales, England and Eastern Europe. Why this is, je ne sais pas. One might go back as far as the Highland clearances for an answer, but the real question to be asked is why the return of the Scots to such places is easily matched, in numbers, by peoples from far and wide.

From Ardnamurchan, we retraced our steps (well, our wheels) as far as Salen, then travelled North on the A861 to Mallaig. The B8007 is a single track road, peppered with passing places. Courtesy is a must on such byways. One might not expect passing places on an A class road, but they were surely to be had.

Mallaig is a pretty little harbour town. Its existance has everything to do with shipping, from fishing boats to ferries. Its size can be explained by the coming of the railway in 1901. After a delicious poke of fish and chips, washed down by a can of Irn Bru, we followed that railway to Glenfinnan. I thought of Brian. "He should have come here on his Scottish odyssey," I said. As members of the National Trust for Scotland, we got to park in their car park for free, though, sadly, the shop and visitor centre was closed. A short hike of five or ten minutes up a wee hill afforded us views of the Jacobite Memorial and the viaduct, as seen in various Harry Potter films, used by the Hogwarts Express. Other film fans might be aware that Connor and Duncan MacLeod, from the Highlander series, were born in Glenfinnan in the sixteenth Century.

Then the midges came out. Unseasonably warm weather is great at midday, but when the sun goes to bed, Mr and Mrs Midge come out to play - and bite! Back in the car we went and off to the hotel via Fort William with beautiful views of Ben Nevis on the way.

The next day was basically our journey home, though we did this, after another mammoth breakfast (with the Buddha) in much the same manner as our journey to Ballachulish, stopping at a myriad of different places along the way. First, a forest walk on the approach to Glen Coe during which we found Signal Rock and Mary found a herd of deer to chase. Then Glencoe village to pick up some provisions for lunch which we took in the middle of Glen Coe itself. Fantastic views of the highest peaks speckled in snow. Curious to look up at snow, dear reader, when you're sat on a deck-chair in a short-sleeved shirt in full sunshine. From Glen Coe, we drove across Ranoch Moor and on to Crianlarich for an ice-cream, then Stirling, then home.

I slept like a log!

By the way, I've just come across this article on Wikipedia: Eating a grounder. I feel really upset, my lamb.

Express

Take a look at this, dear reader:

HOW THIS ONE GREAT LAND LOST ITS SOUL

The Daily Express says Saint George's Day should be an occasion for patriotic celebration.

The words of that stirring wartime song There’ll Always Be An England have acquired a tragic poignancy. For there is no longer a real England – not the England that was once renowned for its gentleness and humour, its decency and sense of history, its rich language and inspiring landscape.

Decency, indeed? That's rich, coming from a man who also publishes The Daily Star, owns Television X and who has previously owned several pornographic publications such as Penthouse, Big Ones and Asian Babes. The tragic poignancy is that a man who cultivates the debasement of women, men and the sexual act imagines the cheapening of society and the loss of formerly held values was instigated by the government and not by the likes of him and his peers, men who seek to make a fast buck from we so-called victims, regardless of consequence.

Richard Desmond, now a supporter of the Conservative Party, once gave a £100,000.00 donation to The Labour Party, the current object of his hatred. The Labour Party were unwise to accept a donation from a publisher of porn, a man who changes his political opinions like the wind. The donation did the Labour party no favours, both in relation to the benefactor's erratically changing political views and the nature of his business. Similarly, the SNP recently accepted half a million pounds from Brian Souter, a horribly homophobic bigot. The SNP were insane to accept this gift. It's done their credibility no end of hard. If the Scottish people go forward on Thurday week to elect an SNP executive, the result will be seen as a referendum, not only on independence and the UK Labour government, but on the acceptability of homophobia and the hatred of minorities. Expected, though, I think, as the SNP is all about hatred. But I digress...

The relics of our past are still around us – such as the mon­archy or the village green –‑but they have been robbed of all meaning and vitality, becoming little more than heritage landmarks in a place without a soul.

In essence, yes. The village green is thankfully no longer the venue for throwing rotten fruit and vegetables at fellow villagers locked up in the stocks. The monarchy's influence on the state seems, mercifully, to lessen with each passing year and the fairytale of their perfection has broken down since the realisation that members of the Royal Family are, in many aspects, just like the rest of the population: they have affairs, they take drugs, they even play bingo. They are not gods.

The country of Shakespeare echoes to the babble of a thousand foreign tongues. The land of Elgar is held hostage by the thud of the rapper’s boom-box. The stiff upper lip has been replaced by the wail of victimhood. A land that used to be known for its lack of crime is now scourged by gang violence, shootings and stabbings.

A babble of a thousand tongues? Babble implies that all other languages are inferior to English a rather simple Anglo-Frisian language rooted in the Germanic tongue brought by invading settlers to the British Isles from various parts of modern Germany. Such a claim, brought by a newspaper with a poor grip on the rules of spelling, grammar and sentence construction is, at best, ridiculous, at worst, embarrassingly rude. And of the original Britons who spoke a collection of Brythonic languages? What might The Daily Express think of them? I dread to think.

Beauty and excellence in the arts are not, have not and never could be limited to the past. Amidst his contemporaries, Elgar himself would have been viewed as either a conformist, dragging traditional classical and orchestral music into the twentieth century or as a visionary.

If I might steal from Wikipedia:

In 1899, at the age of 42, his first major orchestral work, the Enigma Variations, was premiered in London under the baton of the eminent German conductor Hans Richter. It was received with general acclaim, establishing Elgar as the pre-eminent British composer of his generation. This work is formally titled Variations on an Original Theme; the word "Enigma" appears over the first six measures of music, which led to the familiar version of the title. The enigma is that, although there are fourteen variations on the "original theme", the 'enigma' theme, which Elgar said 'runs through and over the whole set' is never heard. Many later commentators have observed that although Elgar is today regarded as a characteristically English composer, his orchestral music and this work in particular share much with the Central European tradition typified at the time by the work of Richard Strauss. Indeed, the Enigma Variations were well-received in Germany.

Rap/hip hop music is as adored and as hated as classical music was one hundred years ago, as it is today.

The stiff upper lip might well have been replaced by a wail of victimhood, though whether a culture of pretence is better than a culture of acceptance and realism is a matter of debate. Any psychologist, psychiatrist or counsellor would encourage victims of crimes and of tragic events to face them, to accept them, not to sweep things under the proberbial carpet. A change for the better, I think.

I'm not sure there was ever a time when England was known for its low rates of crime. The numbers of Victorian prisons still in use, up and and down the land, surely speak for themselves, as do all the stories of smuggling known to every school pupil, the transportations and notorious hangings of the eighteenth, nineteeth and twentieth centuries. And the world's most notorious crimes, the murders of prostitutes by Jack The Ripper - do they speak of a land that used to be known for its lack of crime?

I think not.

Saint George's Day should be a day for patriotic celebration, yes, but not a day for racism, lies, xenophobia, wallowing in the past (glorious or otherwise) or for denial. The Daily Express' rude sense of superiority is, in my humble opinion, quite sickening. It might have been acceptable in the 80s, hen, but not now.

Kilts

British soldiers try not to slip on the cobbles near Edinburgh Castle. The contract to make kilts for the new Royal Regiment of Scotland has been awarded to Scottish firms.

Click here for the full story.

Isn't it a fabulous photograph, dear reader? Click here to see from where I lifted it.