Ah wis watchin Doris answerin the right honourable an fabulous Joanna Cherry wi the words "I refer the Right Honourable and Fabulous Lady to the answer I gave a moment ago", an ah had a flashback o Maggie utterin the exact same words, year in year oot fer a decade, an then it morphed intae a vision, like in Polanski's Macbeth where Macbeth has a wobbly at a pairty an sees the unendin succession o Banquo's descendants, ye know that bit, the unbroken line o Kings leadin aw the way doon tae Jamie Saxt, (cos he wis the original version's sponsor ye see, a nice wee bit o spin fer Jamie, the auld fox he wis)...
Anyway, this vision is like when ye fold yer dressin-table wing-mirrors in an ye see yersel tae infinity, that sort o thing, an ah suddenly saw a long line o Tory Prime Ministers stretchin away oot o sight tellin Scotland that they're shite but we'll take aw yer money an yer first-born... It's an awfy vision o the future, except ah'm describin the last 40 years, dinnae ever tell me Scots 'wullnae put up wi this' or they 'wullnae put up wi that', we've pit up wi it aw awreadys, an we've let oorsels get colonised by wankers ffs!
It could well be oor future if we dinnae dae somethin different, somethin unorthodox, somethin that works... an here ah'll spell it oot fer ye, Wur. No. Daein. It. Yet.
