Whit's that smell?

Whenever ah lift ma nose fae the grindstone th'noo, ah can smell the sweet scent o desperation in the air. Ah smell it in the froth surroundin the Yes campaign launch, when the Daily Record actually finds a picture o celebration oan the website as worthy o comment an criticism, ah smell it in the Olympics coverage as a harsh, vindictive, budget-slashin posh-boy government tries tae justify blawin billions oan a three-week-long sports day, but ah smell it maist keenly in this weekend's jewel-encrusted jubilee jamboree as oor establishment draws its cheeks in tightly an tries tae convince us that an unelected birthright encapsulates an represents this country tae the world. Weel here's a thing, Elizabeth Mountbatten-Schleiswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Glucksberg-Windsor-Saxe-Coburg-Gotha-Wettin-Hohenzollern-Tak-Yer-Pick disnae represent me...

When Scotland decides in 2014 that it's time tae tak oor place among the ither nations o the world, ah'd like us tae follae maist ither modern nations an pick that yin human bein that represents us as the heid o oor state. Noo whether we cry that person oor President, or whether we cry them somethin like Duke or Duchess o Albany, or even King or Queen o Scots is up tae us, but the main thing is we should pick them, an the position should be term-limited. Onybody that bides in Scotland could go fer that position, so Anne Laurence could go fer it if she flits here, as could Alex Salmond, as could Jimmy Krankie, as could the Rastatramp, as could ah, as could ony o Jock Tamson's bairns...

Let's no be bound by oor past, let's be freed by oor future...