Yes Media

The dust is settling as a week or two pass after that fateful day.  Already we know of more bombing runs, more austerity (as if we didn’t before), and we see parties positioning themselves, through the inevitable internecine strife, for the looming election.  But Scotland looks further ahead than May next year, important though that will be.  The website of Yes Scotland has lain static since the 18th; for that was a funded venture, salaried positions.  But the new media continues, and gathers strength.

It is widely accepted that the campaign for an independent Scotland had the cards stacked against it from the start.  Much criticism has been levied at our media.  The written press can of course take whatever line the editors, or more likely the owners and shareholders, decide.  And the consumers can make a decision to purchase or to ignore.  But the broadcast media is another matter, and in the state-funded broadcaster, the one with an explicit duty of impartiality, we have been ill-served; especially from Pacific Quay from where BBC Scotland has provided endless skewed broadcasts and articles.  The evidence is out there.

But today’s media is very much an online venture, and we can, and have, all joined in.  In that area the Yes campaign has flourished, and continues, despite or because of the heartache.  We have though reached the stage where many have become politically motivated where previously they were disenfranchised.  Party membership, which has to be the very last thing that few decide to participate in, has been rocketing.  The SNP are close to tripling their numbers in the aftermath of the result and the realisation of what lies ahead.  The Greens and the SSP are on a similar path.  That is quite some movement in our society.

My online reading confirms what I have hoped to see, and that is dedicated outlets intent on continuing, beyond the vote, into the future.  And that takes us to a quandary.  For these are resources we have accessed for free; hours of work put in without financial reward.  That cannot continue and we need to address not only how we access our media and sources of information, but how we fund it.

In today’s world many have no requirement to pay the TV license, finding routes other than watching live television to keep in touch with their favourite programmes.  Newspaper sales, save for the honourable exception of the one paper backing independence, the Sunday Herald, continue to plummet.  So we have a budget available.  Between our daily newsprint habit now foregone and our TV tax levy, it is not unreasonable to suggest we may have £500 or so as a continuation of our previous annual budget.  And we can spend that much more wisely, for we have seen how critical the media have been in spreading fear, for those remaining faithful to the traditional outlets.  We have to spread the word further, and invest in the machinery.

We have crowd-funded, donated and subscribed; and we have lost.  We need to look ahead.  Already announcements have been made.  Newsnet Scotland, which I remember as a monthly newsletter and has now become essential daily reading, are going forward and Derek Bateman will add his expertise, through his blog and his broadcasting, in a joint venture.

Jack Foster and his team, the ones that brought you The Fear Factor, Scotland Yet, and Dateline Scotland, are intent on being onscreen.  Their fundraiser set a target over 60 days and broke it in an hour or two.  Stuart Campbell’s Wings Over Scotland may have some role with them.  And Wings too is open for donations and subscriptions, having led the crowd-funding way time and again in carving a niche that now sees what started as a blog reaching millions.

Bella Caledonia have been writing since 2007, covering much more than politics.  Again donations and subscriptions are needed to help Mike Small and his team do what they want to do, and that is to continue, to expand and to move forward.

And one of my own campaign heroes, Robin McAlpine, has similar plans with his Common Weal project.  The begging bowl is out, but we know where it all can lead, and we know what we want to achieve.  Watch Robin’s video outlining the exciting plans he has.  This broken society can be fixed.  It will not happen overnight, but, and I say this having just witnessed at first hand the world’s happiest nation – Denmark has held that position for some 35 years so must be doing many things right – we can look towards Lesley Riddoch’s Nordic Horizons and make our nation Blossom.

There are others too, Craig Murray comes to mind, and Munguin, amongst many.  Click those links.  Get the bank card out.

So our writers, bloggers, broadcasters, producers and interviewers all have the knowledge and the experience to move forward together.  Resources can be ‘pooled and shared’ to borrow a vile phrase.  I have seen a suggestion of a full Yes Media get together.  I hope it happens.  But for now we all need to examine our media budget, and where best to spend it.  With 1.6m and more, all with a huge desire, we have the numbers.  At say £500pa it is quite possible to commit £10 or £20pm here and there, – choose your own preferences – and to let those outlets flourish.  For a couple of million tenners every month make it all possible.  And we can still deal with specific crowd-funding from time to time.  Let’s do it.

PS Another worthy cause:  https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/iscot-a-free-fearless-news-service-4-scotland

And I Will Walk

… 406 steps.  Being Sunday it was church in the morning.  Fortunately there were two doors.  We walked past the one marked service, and instead entered, with the throngs, the doorway for the tower, the campanile.  By around 300 steps we left the wooden stair up the inside of the tower, past the biggest of the bells – fortunately it was only the smaller ones that were on song – and headed out for fresh air.  From there we spiralled externally up the spire.  As the steeple narrowed so too did the steps, till finally those going up were unable to pass those going down.  And so international languages found a common way.  And from the distant water rose a haunting melody, for there before us was The Bridge, and, rising from the grey horizon, the coast of Sweden.  It may have been the high point of the day, but not the highlight.  There were plenty of them to follow.

The venue for the evening meal was not an easy choice.  Girl Urchin was intent on pasta; little brother seeking fish.  It is a city rich with choice.  Again we managed to pass on any of the 14 Michelin Stars that CPH has to offer.  The land of bacon seems to import vast amounts of beef, much of it from Hereford.  We sauntered past offers from Hercegovina and Argentina; Australia too, with the air miles for the ‘roo and the croc being just a tad too far.  A quiet little Croatian venue provided something for all.  The grilled trout went down well with the youngest of the party, once the head had been removed.  And the mixed meats proved an excellent repast for the Macedonian Merlot – actually it was just a Cabernet Sauvignon, but it throws the alliteration into meltdown. And so we dined on memories of marvellous times in Motovun, and on the Istrian coast. The Urchins recalled little other than whet they’ve seen in photographs, but I could relive every moment, and did. Special days.

Through the day we made use of one of the many hop on/hop off tour buses, reaching parts of the city weary feet wouldn’t have reached.  From the top deck the sun glistened off the golden onion domes of the Russian Orthodox Church.  This was a present from Tsar Alexander III when he married his Danish princess, Marie Dagmar, or Feoderovna as she became with a new found patronymic.  She was buried in the same church in 1928, which had me thinking.  Marie must have been the mother of the ill-fated Nicholas II, and thus had lived through that appalling demise of the Romanov dynasty, the centenary of which is getting ever closer.

We looked for the Museum of the Resistance, but found little, despite the tape on the tour bus telling us the tale of it’s founding.  What it didn’t say was that resistance to fire was not part of the deal, with the building burning to rubble 18 months or so ago.  Fortunately all the artefacts were saved, and a new building is at the planning stage.

I was minded of Paris, and those majestic Luxembourg Gardens, when we wandered through the Rosenberg Slot.  There were statues hidden amongst the trees and the greenery; cycling was banned; children played and lovers did what lovers do, or so I’m told.  But for a thick coating of lush grass I could have been in some arrondissement or other.

Over the last few days I’ve been turning my mind to something I read in a magazine on the outgoing flight.  In an article the writer had declared William Dalrymple as Britain’s Greatest Living Travel Writer.  Hmm thought I, as lists played out before me.  Thubron and Morris are still with us, and still writing.  It’s quite a claim.  I had lists of dead ones, list of those other than British.  Then I wondered on the criteria.  Was it quantity or quality.  Dalrymple certainly has both, though he’s been tending towards history of late, since spending most of his time in India.  Others may have only a couple of books out yet, but works of real beauty should not be discounted because of their rarity.  Benedict Allen is not everyone’s cup of char, but he’s written of some outrageous adventures, and written well.  Sara Wheeler, who fails only the posh boy test typical of travel writers.  There are several with a book or two from whom I’m always on the lookout for more.  Greatest Living, now that’s an ongoing debate.  Suggestions please.

Skal

Warm greetings from Kobenhavn.  And they know how to keep you warm in these parts, with a blanket to wrap round your legs at every seat in every pavement cafe.  And those cafes are seriously busy.  The blankets are put to good use, keeping the breeze at bay and allowing you to spend time over the afternoon coffee, or even dine out, al fresco, after dark.  Some have been known to wear them like a shroud, though they tend to be the ones that want the heating on, all the time.  And some of the cafes even go for the tartan option, Royal Stuart and Dress Gordon witnessed thus far.

CPH, as we young and trendies like to call it, is a seriously busy place.  Our diner of choice this evening catered for something close to 200 covers, and continually had a line of folks waiting for tables.  The city has been like that all day, positively humming with life, throbbing with good vibes and very happy people.

Denmark of course is a small independent country, population roughly the same as Scotland.  Wandering the streets it is easy to see how it can feature at the top of all those happiness and prosperity indices that have us casting an envious eye across the water.  Just as well they don’t have the curse of those rich oil resources that befell Scotland.  There are major construction projects under way as city squares are re-developed, and more ground-breaking facilities put in place.  The economy is clearly booming, foodbanks and beggars noticeable by their absence.  One of those projects though has been a teeny bit embarrassing.  There is a bridge being built; it should have been finished last year but might be by next.  They started from both sides of the water, then realised they wouldn’t be meeting in the middle, one end higher than the other.  Ooops.

The boat trip round the canals and waterfront was interesting.  Persistent winds had caused high tides, meaning the pilot had to lower the windscreens, and we had to lower our heads as we scraped under numerous bridges.  But from the water there are some great sights.  And I’m told I’m dragging my weary limbs up 400 steps of some tower or other on the morrow.  And the last stretch is external, spiral skywards before the pinnacle is obtained.  Joy.

Getting here was fun too.  Mainly as we’ve discovered a new favourite airline.  It’s the three inch gap between knees and the comfy leather seat in front that does it; space to reach down and loosen the laces; space to stretch out; space to sleep.  The fleet from Norwegian Air carries the picture of heroes on the tailfin, from explorers to writers and beyond.  Just my luck to get an evangelist.  Mind you someone’s watching out, for Tivoli’s closed, in preparation for Hallowe’en.  Relief.

There’s heap of history all around, from the statue of the founding father in 1167 to the world’s oldest navy.  There’s a museum for every taste, and much rich lore from the days of rule over the Inuit of Greenland, the Faroes and beyond.  Ice cream is doing well too; pistachio of course, and some sea-salt caramel just to fill the waffle beyond the brim.  But it probably doesn’t do to try and put a post together on the back of the finest juice from withing old city walls walked in days gone by.  We shared a bottle of Montepulciano’s finest earlier.  Roll on tomorrow.

Cheer up folks

Some campaign memories, from the inimitable Citizen Smart:

 

But, as you may have heard, the hare is running; the people remain engaged.  Membership of the SNP has risen by a massive 120% in a few days, overtaken the LibDems, nationally.  The Greens and the Socialists too show huge increases.  The Westminster election is but a few short months away.  Times they remain interesting.

Amongst the gloom, and Scotland continues to be blanketed in sadness wherever you go, I’ve tried to ignore the conspiracy theories, the claims of count irregularities.  But I can’t shake off the sight of smug smiles on unionist faces the moment polling stations closed.  They knew the result; it was ordained.  Three quarters of a million postal votes, even ignoring the late offers, were always fertile ground.

We really must, in these days of technology and security, find a better way to cast our vote and to count our votes.

Anyway I was directed to some very interesting comments.  Have a read.  What is our state capable of?  The Butterfly Rebellion is a new one on me, but with posts like this one I’ll be dropping in now and again:

http://thebutterflyrebellion.org/2014/09/23/the-sabotage-of-scotlands-democracy/

I was in the company of friends the other day and, though we had business to address, there was only one topic for discussion.  They live most of the year in France.  Friends from their village phoned over the weekend.  The views from abroad are nothing short of astonishing, unable to believe that we could turn down this chance, without bloodshed, to look after ourselves.

My friends are selling their house in Scotland.  They had been intending keeping a base here, a flat in Edinburgh perhaps.  But no more, it’s France and France only for them.  And upwards of £1m will leave this country for good.

The victory, as we know, is of Fear over Hope.  And in the aftermath that’s tactics the victors defend.  Newsnet Scotland will continue to be the media of choice.  But there will be more.  Things are happening.  I’ll keep you posted.

I listened to the leaders’ speeches at Holyrood yesterday, unable to resist shouting at the car radio at times, as I headed off to the Stirlingshire countryside.  Grace, magnanimity, empathy – all absent.  Lamont and Davidson are not fit to share a platform with our government.  Patrick Harvie had wise words as always.  Labour’s comeuppance is nigh.  Scotland will not forget.

And finally, here’s Wings Over Scotland counting agent Doug Daniel, explaining the processes he witness, and putting bed talk of shenanigans at the count.

And a good summary from Max Keiser, in his own inimitable style:

The best of the recent addresses though, has to be Christine Grahame, in the debating chamber yesterday.  The subject, our pensioners:

So some reading, and some listening.  It goes on.

 

Time to lighten the atmosphere

It has been very intense of late, I know that more than most.  But I’m not going to apologise.  Instead let’s go down the life goes on cliché for a moment or two.

I’ve added a new article to the Writings page.  It was my entry for this year’s Scottish Book Trust project.  The theme was home, and I was reasonably hopeful.  But they’ve picked a couple of dozen from the 500 or so entries, and my piece won’t be in the book.  Still you might enjoy it.  It’s called Range on the Home, the last article on the list.There’s elements of landscape and history in there, if I remember correctly.  I really must go and read it again, for it’s been a while.

It was that same SBT who launched the recognition for my Iona article a couple of years ago.  Recently the readers of Wanderlust‘s online forum have been enjoying it too.  But I was surprised to find the other day, a link to the article on the front page of the website.  It looks as though it might be printed in full in this month’s magazine; which is thrilling, though The Genealogist’s response was a little less enthusiastic shall we say.

The irony is that my subscription to said marvellous magazine was a victim of a cull on magazine subscriptions a year or so ago.  That decision was nothing to do with the quality of the product, but more a recognition that I was finding less and less time to actually read the various magazines that came through the door, reduced to skimming articles and focussing on the book reviews.

Besides, my attempts at writing had been changing direction, quite consciously, with little travel opportunity as family life gets busier.  I realise that I haven’t been on any Scottish island since that BBC interview on Iona after the SBT project.  Now that is something I do need to remedy, and quickly.

But it won’t be this weekend, for, as it happens, we are off on a wee journey, islands beyond in fact.  I know there are Borgen tours, and ones for The Bridge; The Killing too; I may return with a big woolly jumper.  And I’ll probably have to endure Tivoli.  I may even post a few notes on location.  Yes we’re having a few days in Copenhagen, some time away, all four of us, to mark a certain birthday.

Timed to avoid the vote it kind of scuppers any plans to head to Wigtown for the book festival.  And it means that other ritual at this time of year, the Christmas Cake, is also likely to be delayed a few days.  That said I did manage to pick up some cranberries and blueberries the other day.  Coffee with FirstBorn, after Boy Urchin and I left the afternoon football (four nil home win), took us to the American Whole-Foods outlet on the south-side.  Once I saw the pecan & cranberry sourdough bread I knew we’d need a basket for a few other bits and pieces.  So the cake project has started to rumble.

The garden too is still here.  Despite good intentions the only activity yesterday, I was utterly exhausted, was to feed the chickens and lock them up at night.  Walking round the side of the house in the gloaming, two cats rushed past, the younger ones for old Jake rushes not these days.  I startled something under the kitchen window and what a surprise I got.  I nearly tripped over it.  Snuffling around in some plant pots and fresh mole diggings was none other than a badger.  He scuttled off towards the swings though there’s no exit through the fence in that direction.  Of course I had no torch with me.

The new chicken run is secure, over the fence in the field.  Old Brock will need to be a better tunneller than the mole to get in there, he said hopefully.  Life, as they say goes on, and continues to throw up surprises and delights where least expected.  I’m off out to buy a copy of Wanderlust.  Might even cycle into town.

Onwards

Hurt.  Resentment.  At times anger; suppress that; no let it out.  These have been difficult days.  But at a gathering last night, an impromptu speakeasy if you like, people who have barely spoken to a soul shared their thoughts, shared their grief.  Strangers brought together for a common cause.  And they began to look forward.  Others have still to emerge from their own personal darkness, but they will.

The reality is that the future of Scotland, the younger generations, has been sold out by the older ones who, in many cases, will not be here to witness the youngsters reaping what has been sown in their name.  Today I am in exactly the same place as many friends would be had the result been reversed.  Hurt, and terrified of what may lie ahead.

We have seen the demographics of the vote.  All groups under age 55 voted Yes.  Increasingly over that divide the vote was reversed.  I cannot blame pensioners who bowed to the lie that their pensions would not be paid; I cannot lay blame at the door of our friends from Poland and beyond, who were lied to, told they would be deported.  But I can lay blame at those who perpetrated those fears.  They have no place in a modern Scotland, and they will face up to the people.  And the business that fomented unrest, under pressure or otherwise, will answer to market forces.

Ahead, immediately, lies the vows and pledges that caused those swithering over their vote to err on the side of caution.  Duped I fear, unravelling already.  In a few short months votes will be sought for candidates to represent us at Westminster; a year later at Holyrood.  Interesting times, through the hurt, through the tears.

I cannot believe that the parliamentarians representing Labour in Scotland would not have been better campaigning for a Yes vote in 2014, for Labour in 2016.  Therein lay their route to power in Scotland; their chance to be their own masters, distanced from the London HQ that continues to increase the distance from the very principles of the party’s Scots founders, and from their core members and voters.  They will suffer for that, heavily.  But they have shown themselves, from leadership in Scotland down, to be spineless, devoid of directional thought, incapable, unelectable.  And so it will be.

And that wonderful Yes movement; those people growing in stature, driven from feet on the ground, the complete anti-thesis to top-down politics.  The people drove the campaign.  And they do so yet.

Look around to our friends online and you will find the beginnings of a new Scotland.  The old is gone, forever.  The parties are recruiting as never before.  The SNP have over 8,000 welcome packs to issue already – that’s a full one-third of what the membership was – and the Greens too are busy.  People who have never been politically motivated are looking ahead.  Lifelong Labour members are replacing the red cards in their wallets.  The Labour For Indy group are on the cusp of a new future.

There will be new media, for we have been misled and failed by the old.  The BBC in these parts could very quickly see their funding shaved by £10m per month.  They will notice.  The license (it’s registered with the EU as a tax) need not be paid if live TV is not watched.  Our technology gives us many other options for viewing the same output, license free.  It’s happening, now.

And so the 45 – those of us in the 1.6million group – look ahead.  We have exposed the very slimy underbelly of Westminster and The Establishment.  They liked that not one bit, shaken to the very core of their being, and responded, more fear.  It got them what they wanted on Thursday.  But it’s got them much more than that; you’ll see.

We have seen the result of nationalism.  After two years of comparisons to every dictator the world has ever known we witnessed, on Friday night, Nazi salutes on the memorial to our fallen soldiers in George Square.  Those salutes were wrapped in Union flags.  Heaven help us if they had lost.  And the BBC, with their cohorts in the written press, spun that into something it was not.  They cannot stop.

On Friday Scotland was wrapped in a veil of utter sadness.  Of the victors there was no sign, as invisible as they had been through the campaign.  We are told now to remove the badges from our lapels, the stickers from our cars.  As ever the failed Prime Minister is hopelessly out of touch.  It’s not happening.  The various groups from the movement will come together, will enter the political field as we look to the vows and pledges and the elections that lie ahead.  And all those groups will go forward together, as one.

Keep your eye on the online resources, on Newsnet and Wings, Bateman and Riddoch, Bella and the National Collective, Business for Scotland too.  The various Yes pages will not close.  New resources will emerge.  You will hear much more of robin McAlpine’s Common Weal, of that I am sure.

Finally a word for Alex Salmond, stepping down as leader of his party, as First Minister of our government, a couple of months hence.  He has been the outstanding politician of the 21st century, bar none, across all parties, across the UK.  Of that there is no doubt.  Scotland will remember.  45% is a massive achievement.  Let it sink in.  Let us go forward.

Democracy in Action

Well we’ve certainly seen that.  Thankfully we have an outcome that is decisive, for a result a point or two apart would not have been good.  I pen these notes in the immediate aftermath, before the morning reading.  Bear with me.

I woke this morning, after a sleep counted in minutes that was not really sleep at all, and I heard John Swinney on the wireless.  Whilst I am in turmoil I listen to a man whose whole professional life, his aims and aspirations, have come to an end, on one level.  But the dignity, the calm and the control that I heard from him had me welling up, again.

My day yesterday ended more than 24 hours after it began.  Yet even from those first few tiny results the outcome was clear to be seen.  We had been found wanting.  Fear overcame Hope.  It was a shock, for I really did not expect it.

I go back to the mood on the streets, building over two years.  Even yesterday, polling day, Independence Day, that mood was there.  The stories that emerged through the day gave way to an emotional roller coaster.  We heard of people in tears in the polling booth, unable to believe that finally they had The Question in front of them, to be answered.  For some it was a life’s aim, for others like me it was the end of a campaign.  And what a campaign.

We witnessed democracy as never seen before in my lifetime, and never again too I’d wager.  85% of the electorate took part, 85%, from a base of voter apathy, of democratic deficit.  In that regard it has been a huge success.

Long will I remember the marches and the rallies, the halls and the meeting rooms packed with people, listening, questioning, eager to hear more.  Personalities emerged, some familiar, others new.  We’ll not forget Margo, who didn’t make it to the end.  And Robin McAlpine will surely have a big part to play in what lies ahead.  So too Lesley Riddoch, from her Nordic Horizons.  We had a dream.  It is no more, and I’ve still to tell The Urchins that I’ve tried my best but that, in my view, their future will not be what I had hoped it might be, could be, should be.

That said we know there will be some form of devolution coming out of this.  We do, don’t we?  It will get through the back benches and the Lords, despite the media.  It will have to.

Ah the media, that was the difference.  Whilst Yes were on the streets, energised, mobilised, grassroots, No were absent, rarely seen, and when they were they had been transported from far to the south, paid to be here.  For they knew they had the full might of The Establishment machinery, and that meant the media.  The role of the state-funded broadcaster needs to be seriously reviewed.  They have had a poor referendum, especially that branch that is supposed to serve Scotland.

We’ve been love-bombed and fear-bombed; chairmen and directors have been called into Downing Street, announcements made.  The people cannot compete with that.  Democracy falls against the tsunami that was set in motion in the last few days, when they finally took the Yes movement seriously, when what we bring to their table looked to be at risk.

Devo was not on the ballot paper, at Westminster’s insistence.  It was not there when postal votes were cast.  It appeared, in a panic, when one poll was released, released precisely to have the outcome it produced.  I’m beginning to trust pollsters as much as …, let’s not go there.  If Devo Max had been in the Edinburgh Agreement then that is undoubtedly what we would have voted for.  The negation of that gave rise to the quest for Independence.  Of that I have no doubt.  And a movement grew, momentum; the hare was running.  Then at the last minute came unspecified promises, and Fear overcame Hope.

And so we are where we are, and the future will bring what it brings.  We’ll not see a campaign like that again.  What will we talk about?  Now excuse me whilst I go and see what the world is saying, Scotland’s application to join rejected.  I’ll probably have to change some of the categories on these pages, once the dust settles.  It’s been a blast.

And here’s a thing.  As we won’t be a nation to rise again, have been sent homeward to think again, what will our army of sports fans sing on the terraces, our sporting heroes stoke their adrenalin with before the kick off?  Will we even have international teams?

I’m tired, and down.  I need to hear more of that dignity I heard as I started these notes.  I’m sure I will.  Listen to it.

A Hero of Our Time

We have fifteen hours.

The next fifteen hours mark the only ones in the entire history of time in which the fate of Scotland has rested democratically in the hands of its people. In 1707 the country was sold from under its people’s feet by a tiny handful of “nobles”. Before that it was won or lost in blood and sorrow. Today, the will of the people – every man and woman with one equal vote, regardless of wealth or property – shall decide.

Voting Yes won’t magically solve our problems overnight. But they’ll be ours to own and solve for ourselves. We need not do things in the way they’ve “always been done”. We can take Scotland – a nation at once both proudly ancient and reborn afresh – and shape it in whatever form we choose.

It will be a land not inherited from our predecessors – for they never owned it to give – but lent to us by our children, to build into a place they can prosper and flourish, not be forced to leave in search of opportunity. For those already driven away, a home worth returning to. And for those who’ve never been, a welcoming beacon of hope.

All those Scotlands, shared by all of us. Something old. Something new. Something borrowed. You know the rest.

Our enemies are not the good people of England. They, like us and much of the rest of the world, suffer the injustices and indignities imposed by a ruling class which has no nation but power and no language but money.

A new feudalism grips the planet, a reversal of much of the progress of the 20th century. Workers have seen their rights diminished, and ever-greater toil yields an ever-smaller share of the rewards, which are greedily hoarded by the wealthy on a scale not seen since medieval times. Our children are placed under a yoke of enormous debt before their working lives even begin, our elderly pushed ever closer to the grave before they can rest.

Independence alone is not the solution. But it is the vital first step that makes the solution possible. Many of those in the rest of the UK, and elsewhere across the world, look enviously on the chance we hold in our hands today, and urge us to use it, to show that another way is possible.

If we vote Yes we will remain allies, comrades-in-arms and friends with our brothers and sisters to the south, and this time it will be a friendship forged from respect, not subservience or subsidy. But if we hand back power meekly to the Bullingdon elite like a cowed serf whose courage deserted him at the last moment we will have earned only their contempt, and it will be richly deserved and pitilessly exercised.

Those who rule over us had forgotten fear, except as a tool. They buy governments. They laugh in the face of the law. They own the press. The real, unelected holders and wielders of power are immune to transient politicians reliant on patronage.

But they’re afraid now.

You know it’s true. Have you ever in your life seen such blind, hysterical panic on the normally-serene faces of the insatiable rich? Have you ever before this day witnessed the privileged and powerful – the captains of industry, the commanders of armies, the self-proclaimed “masters of the universe” – in such abject, frenzied terror, cajoling and pleading and warning and bullying, saying anything they can think of to stop us?

Why do you think that is? Is it because they’re scared FOR us – they who’ve never previously cared about anything except our votes and our money, they who despise the frail and torment the vulnerable? Or is it because they’re scared OF us?

They have not been this weak in three centuries, and they will never be this weak again in our lifetimes. For let there be no mistake: they will not allow this unexpected, unforeseen peril, this democracy no longer de-fanged but suddenly red in tooth and claw, to threaten them twice.

We have no need of guns or bombs. This revolution will have no martyrs, no widows, no orphans. For fifteen precious hours our land can be won for a cross in a box. For one fleeting moment, our foes’ flank is exposed, all their mighty weapons useless.

On them, readers. On them. They fail.

 

How I wish those words were mine.  They are not, for they were penned by Rev Stuart Campbell.  He has changed the debate over the last two years.  And in his Wee Blue Book he has pulled off a masterstroke.  I have a feeling in my bones that Scotland’s gratitude to one man will rarely have been higher.  Head over to Wings Over Scotland and record your own thanks to him; catch up on how others see him.  My very humble thanks Stu.

Let’s Do This – a couple of tunes, and one speech

 

 

 

“In these final hours of this historic campaign I want to speak directly to every person in this country who is weighing up the arguments they have heard.

I have no doubt people in Scotland will look past the increasingly desperate and absurd scare stories being generated daily from Downing Street.

Those have no place in a sensible debate. 

So in these last days of the greatest campaign Scotland has ever seen, I want to ask you to take a step back from the arguments of politicians and the blizzard of statistics.

For every expert on one side, there is an expert on the other.

For every scare tactic, there is a message of hope, opportunity and possibility.

The opportunity for our Parliament to gain real job creating powers, the ability to protect our treasured National Health Service and the building of a renewed relationship of respect and equality with our friends and neighbours in the rest of these Islands. 

But for all that, the talking is nearly done.

The campaigns will have had their say.

What’s left is just us – the people who live and work here.

The only people with a vote. The people who matter.

The people who for a few precious hours during polling day hold sovereignty, power, authority in their hands.

It’s the greatest most empowering moment any of us will ever have.

Scotland’s future – our country in our hands.

What to do? Only each of us knows that.

For my part, I ask only this.

Make this decision with a clear head and a clear conscience.

Know that by voting ‘Yes’, what we take into our hands is a responsibility like no other- the responsibility to work together to make Scotland the nation it can be

That will require maturity, wisdom, engagement and energy- and it will come not from the usual sources of parties and politicians but from you -the people who have 

transformed this moment from another political debate into a wonderful celebration of people power.

Does every Country make mistakes? Yes.

Are there challenges for Scotland to overcome? Undoubtedly.

But my question is this – who better to meet those challenges on behalf of our nation than us?

We must trust ourselves. 

Trust each other.

In Scotland we’ve always had the wealth, the resources and the talent. 

We know that with independence we would immediately be in the top twenty of the richest countries in the world.

But what has emerged in this campaign is something very new.

It has changed Scotland forever. I have met it in every community I have been in the last weeks.

Confidence. 

Belief. 

Empowerment.

An understanding that if we work hard Scotland can be a global success story. 

A beacon of economic growth and a champion of social justice.

That’s who we are as a nation.

We are the land of Adam Smith who said that no society can flourish and be happy if too many of its people do not benefit from its wealth. 

We are the land of Robert Burns who loved Scotland dearly and also celebrated humanity the world o’er. 

It’s what we can be. 

Its why this opportunity is truly historic. 

Women and men all over Scotland looking in the mirror and knowing the moment has come.

Our choice, our opportunity, our time.

Wake up on Friday morning to the first day of a better country.

Wake up knowing you did this – you made it happen.

This vote isn’t about me, it isn’t about the SNP, the Labour Party or the Tories. 

It’s about you. Your family. Your hopes. Your ambitions.

It’s about taking your country’s future into your hands.

Don’t let this opportunity slip through our fingers.

Don’t let them tell us we can’t.

Let’s do this.”

 

 

The Ganaching of teeth

Whilst the air is crackling with tension in these parts we have had a little light relief.  Time was found for a birthday, and a cake was made.  It was one of those birthdays, the ones with a 0 at the end.  The Urchins decreed that five candles would not be inappropriate, whilst mama listened to the birthday song plucked out on a guitar.  So, a recipe for you.  It’s going down well.  No photographs at the moment, but when attention can be turned to that there may be nought but crumbs left on the plate, and some drizzled ganache, with evidence of fingers run through it.

So let me give you Clementine & Almond Syrup Cake.  It’s filled with memories, not mine I hasten to add, but those two chefs from Jerusalem; memories of almond tress in the garden, one sweet, one bitter; and memories of an almond lined pan when stuffed vegetables are cooking.  There’s lots of almond in this little beauty.

Ingredients:

Unsalted butter, 200g; Caster sugar, 380g; zest & juice of 4 clementines and 1 lemon; Ground almonds, 280g; Eggs, five, free-range, beaten; Plain flour, 100g, sifted; Salt, one pinch.

And for the optional chocolate icing – Unsalted butter, 90g; good dark chocolate, 150g; Honey 3/4 tbsp.; Cognac, 1/2 tbsp.  Why would you opt out?

Oven preheated to 18oC; 24cm tin, greased & lined.

Place butter and 300g of the sugar in a mixing bowl with the zest.  Combine well on slow speed, without over-mixing.  Add half the ground almonds and mix to fold through.  Gradually add the eggs with the machine running, scraping the sides of the bowl as you go.  Add remaining almonds, flour and salt and work until the mix is smooth.

Spread the batter in the cake tin and even out with palette knife.  Lick surplus from said knife.  Bake for 50-60min.  Skewer should come out moist.

Then the bit that makes the difference, the syrup in the cake rather than the icing on it.  When the cake is almost cooked place remaining sugar and citrus juices (120ml) in a pan and bring to boil.  Remove from heat when boiling.  As soon as cake comes out the oven brush it with the boiling syrup until it is all soaked through.  Leave the cake to cool completely in the tin.

The ganache makes a wonderful topping, though an alternative is some grated zest.  So it’s the chocolate in this household.  Put the butter, chocolate and honey in a  bowl and melt over a simmering pan of water, ensuring bowl remains clear of the surface.  Stir until fully melted.  Remove from the heat and add the cognac.  Pour over the cooled cake, allowing it to dribble naturally over the sides where it may just run off the plate for little fingers to find.  Drool.

It’s a good one.  Birthday wishes; thoughts of Gaza.  Now back to the campaign front.