Of Salmond and Corbyn

POLITICS FOR PEOPLE WHO DON'T UNDERSTAND POLITICS

I'm back to having a rant again, this time about two aspects of current political discourse which are really getting my goat.

Yes, Alex Salmond did, quite clearly, say that last year's Indy Referendum was a 'once in a lifetime opportunity'.  A fact which gets trotted out by unionists again and again as evidence that there should be no further reference to the matter for at least twenty five years, and that Salmond and other SNP leaders suggesting a further Indyref appears inevitable within a much shorter timescale shows them out to be the most pernicious of liars and totally untrustworthy.

How many of those same people have been quick to condemn David Cameron for stating that there will be no Indyref before 2020, despite Ruth Davidson saying, in the run up to GE2015, that she had consulted with her Westminster leader and could say categorically that the possibility of a future referendum would not be ruled out at any point?  Do I here shouts of "liar, liar" from those self same unionists?  Apparently not.

It turns out that politicians, whenever they are seeking our votes, will often indulge in a practice known as 'hyperbole'.  Leading to, post ballot, another phenomena known as 'broken promises'.  Apparently politicians, and not just from the SNP, have been found exaggerating a wee bit, or even telling outright porkies, just to convince us to vote the way they'd like us to.  Who knew, eh?

So maybe it's best if people try not to draw too deep an inference from a single sentence uttered up by a single politician on one particular single occasion. Because if that's how you gather evidence to back up your opinions then there's a fair chance that you'll end up sounding like a complete arse.

And on to rant part two, again focusing on a phrase that seems to be doing the rounds of all those with a singular fixation. In this case, on the electoral chances of one Jeremy Corbyn. The man who has been the surprise hit of the Labour leadership campaign, despite having been included either to demonstrate the breadth of opinion within the party, or as a token to keep the more left thinking elements in their place.

But Corbyn and his supporters haven't read the carefully prepared neoliberal script that was supposed to anoint the coming of the second Blair. Far from being the token entry he has suddenly become the bookies favourite to win, and the Red Tory faction of the party are furious. "Corbyn is unelectable" they say, appearing to forget that he's looking a strong possibility to win this thing they're having called an election....

But no, this time they mean he couldn't lead the party majority in a Westminster election, because he's too 'left wing' for the electorate. And here's the bit that inspired this rant. "Look what happened in '83" they'll say - that proves it. Really?   So '83, '83, '83 is being trotted out everywhere.

If a week is a long time in politics what does that make three decades? The world is a very different place to the one that saw off Michael Foot.  Who, even five years ago, would have predicted the rise of Syriza and Podemos?  Who, less than twelve months ago, would have predicted the landslide SNP victory in May which returned the 56 MPs who appear to be having to act as the opposition in Westminster, since Labour have all but given up?

The SNP campaigned on anti-austerity platform, similar to Mr Corbyn, and did very. very well out of it, thank you very much. To the point where there were many voters in England wished they had the chance to vote for the party. And let's not forget who was the star of the party leaders' debates, and the only one of the bunch to have positive personal approval ratings going into the election. One Nicola Sturgeon of course.  OK, so Jeremy may lack the First Minister's charisma, but much of the public would warm to a conviction politician who knows what direction he wanst to take and speaks up on behalf of the oppressed classes.

If Corbyn is genuinely unelectable it isn't because of his policies. A huge proportion of the population support rail renationalisation for instance. No, the real enemy he would be fighting isn't voter opinion as such. It's the ways in which that opinion will be twisted against him by an almost entirely right wing press. I couldn't put it any better than Frankie Boyle does : "It’s worth remembering that in the press, public opinion is often used interchangeably with media opinion, as if the public was somehow much the same as a group of radically right wing billionaire sociopaths."

You can see it happening already. Even the Guardian feels a need to mention that Corbyn has been seen wearing a 'Lenin Cap'. Wasn't that the same cap the Beatles wore on an early album cover? Why isn't it a Beatles cap? Or, more to the point, what's his bloody cap, whatever shape it might be, got to do with his politics? Nothing is the answer, so why does it get a mention? Because sneaking in words like Lenin or Marx, however inappropriate the context, is the media version of going "look out or the bogeyman will get you" and hoping the children are scared into being good. Except that we're supposed to be the children....

If Jeremy Corbyn is considered unelectable, as they put it, doesn't that highlight the most serious flaw in our political process? The main stream media is the greatest democratic deficit we face. In Scotland that's been partially overcome through the development of online news and opinion sources that cover a wider spectrum of views. England could do with much the same.

Turns out this rant had three targets to go for!

Creative by proxy.

THE VICARIOUS LIFESTYLE

Try, try and try again.

Or, alternatively.

Recognise your limitations.

Ambition versus pragmatism, desire placed against common sense, devil may care or down to earth?

I sometimes think that it's a shame I never got the chance to take any music lessons at school. Maybe I'd have unlocked a talent that has, instead, now been dormant for decades. And then I remember my efforts to learn musical instrument. Several efforts, over several years. And I know you can't describe as 'dormant' something which doesn't exist.

The sad fact is that, no matter how much I might try, no matter how much I might want it to be true, I could no more be a musician than Dudley Moore's one legged man could have landed the role of Tarzan. (With apologies to younger readers....)

I did spend several years treading the boards, putting myself in front of audiences and pretending to be someone else. I quite liked appearing as someone, anyone, else, because they were usually an improvement on who I felt I was. There were plenty of roles I took on, even the occasional lead. But small amateur dramatic groups are always notoriously short of youngish men, so my successes were largely by default. When I later joined a much larger group, playing to much larger crowds, the bigger parts were suddenly that bit less available to me. I could blame the fact that I was no longer one of the youngsters, as middle age suddenly seemed imminent, but I know that's not the reason. I simply wasn't good enough. Competent, reasonably reliable at this level, but that was it. Recognise your limitations.

I enjoy writing (or why else would I be sticking these posts up in public?). Far more than was the case with music, I have made countless efforts to turn myself into the writer my imagination tells me I could be. Deserve to be, if I'm having a good day. Creative writing courses came and went. The search for subject matter has ebbed and flowed like the tides down in Newhaven Harbour. There have been countless beginnings, the occasional middle, and hardly a single ending. And those felt imposed rather than natural. If I open up the folder with stories I've begun and never completed there's a lot of scrolling through screens to do.

I can manage to knock out a reasonable bit of comic poetry for special occasions when required. Very much written to be spoken rather than read though. It made an amusing alternative to the usual boring speeches and contrived jokes that other managers delivered at leaving dos and the like. (I had plenty of contrived jokes too, but you can get away with them when they rhyme!) But personalised poems are dead and buried after their one-off performance.

Visual arts? Ha, ha, not a chance. Even my stick men look as if they have life threatening injuries.

No, I have come to accept that I am not, despite wishes to the contrary, a truly creative person.  Which is why living in Edinburgh is such a compensation.  If you can't be creative yourself, the next best thing is to satisfy your craving watching people who are genuinely talented.  I have become the vicarious creative.

From house concerts to folk clubs to concert venues to theatres to comedy clubs to street acts of all kinds.  Not to mention the galleries and arthouse cinemas.  There's something going on here all through the year and I intend to make the most of it.  Compensation (for being me?).

Then there's the chance to overdose every once in a while.  So many events surrounding Xmas and, especially, New Year.  The Leith Festival.  The International Film Festival.  The Meadows Festival.  The Jazz & Blues Festival.  And, starting in just a couple of weeks from now, the biggest arts festival on the planet.  

I might not be creative, but I can create my own happiness from those who are.

Climbing on to the wagon?

WHAT'S THE PROBLEM WITH ALCOHOL?

There are a lot of different answers to that question of course. The addiction, the violence, the loutish behaviour, liver damage.  All sorts of reasons why alcohol is a problem in our society, all sorts of reasons for regarding it with suspicion.

Despite which it has always played a reasonably significant role in my life. Not a major role, but I've come to enjoy a decent wine, developed a taste for real ale, have often been tempted by a wee dram in the evening.  Without alcohol I often feel I would barely function at social occasions. It's been important occasionally, even something of a crutch during a stressful period at work in '99, and has always been around, to some degree or other.

That's now changed, to the point where I almost find it hard to enjoy drinking. This change has only come about this year, and the extent to which I have altered my habits surprises me.  It began with the gout. There have been two attacks this year, both early on.

The first was by far the worst, especially as, at the time, I didn't know what the problem was, or how to treat it. Eight days housebound, a week walking with a stick, a further week with a limp that gradually faded away. Three weeks of not being myself, not having the mobility I usually take for granted. And uncertainty over the cause.

I had recovered sufficiently just in time to drive down to Southport for three nights, although pressing the clutch pedal still hurt a bit. The limp only vanished while we were down there. On the first night we ate at the house of friends, and plenty of wine was consumed. The next night we went to the gig that had brought us down there in the first place.  A couple of beers with dinner, a couple at the gig itself, and a couple with the band after the show.  It was the last occasion this year (and possibly ever?) when I felt a bit pissed.

On the final night we went a house warming party, but I was aware I had the long drive back the next day and limited myself to three beers. So I stayed reasonably sober, especially as there was plenty to eat, and was ready to come home.

The drive back was fine.  But the now recognisable symptoms returned the next day. This attack wasn't as bad as the first, but I was still housebound, forced to sit with my foot raised, for three days.

Then I got myself to the doctor for the results of my blood test, and went complete with walking stick and pronounced limp. He told me that I almost certainly had gout, explained what that involved, what can cause it, and how to treat it. I then spent a lot of time on the web reading as much as I could about the condition.

For all that it's been know about for centuries, there seems to be very little in the way of scientific knowledge about living with the ailment.  It's caused by a build up of uric acid in the body.  When that gets too much for the system to deal with it crystallises, usually in the toes and feet, which can result in a lot of pain.  And, potentially, if left untreated, a lot of damage to joints.

So what's the treatment? The one thing that science does know is that dehydration is the great enemy.  Drink water, drink water, drink water. Then pee out that intake and it's the urination which is lowering the uric acid levels in the body.  So I went on a new regime. Drink at least five pints of water per day. Doesn't sound a lot, but it certainly is when taken day after day. Since I began I've maybe only had one or two nights where I've managed to sleep through for five hours or more. Most nights I'm up between three and four am, desperate to relieve my bladder. But that seems a small price to pay compared to what could happen. I'll do whatever I can to avoid any more attacks. They're not only painful, they're bloody inconvenient when you're trying to get out and enjoy life!

So I've followed some of the anecdotal web suggestions as well. Cherry juice, nutmeg and red fruits feature more prominently in my diet (fortunately all things I like). I've cut back on red meat, tried to limit my offal intake, and generally avoid most seafood (although it's scallops which are reputed to be the worst).

And I cut back, drastically, on having the worst possible thing to take when you want to avoid dehydration - alcohol.  I have no way of proving it, but it felt like those three nights in a row spent drinking may have been at least partially responsible for that second attack.

So I take my water and I stay off the booze. I've never had a whisky since then, and even though the thought crosses my mind from time to time it never forces itself upon me to the extent that I give in and have a dram. My wife likes the odd glass of wine with some meals, so I join her in a drop.  But I have the smaller glass, I fill it less, and sip slowly.  Because I'm always drinking water as well, so there's less need to go swilling it down in the way I would have done only a few months ago.

If I do have a pint when I'm out it's now always accompanied by a pint of water. And, having already been drinking water throughout the day, that's enough to fill me up. The only time I've managed more was in a pub in London when we were drinking with friends. And there I struggled to finish off three pints - as much as anything because that meant three pints of water as well....

When Barbara is away I no longer treat myself to the occasional pint in a pub, or a gin and tonic at home. When I go to House Ggigs I no longer take any beer along. When we do have wine I find myself less and less able to drink it. On succeeding days I avoid it, which has sometimes meant a bottle lasting three days. Unheard of in the old days (of 2014....) when I doubt an opened bottle would ever last three hours.

I stop drinking it for several reasons. Obviously I want to avoid any risk that I wake up with a painful foot. But I am also finding that, because my intake has reduced so greatly, I get light headed that much quicker, and it's no longer a feeling I like. But the biggest change, one that is worrying considering how much wine remains in the rack and the number of bottles in the cupboard behind me, is that I no longer actively enjoy drinking.

It's OK with food. But as soon as the meal is over I find it hard to continue. It doesn't even taste nice. Tonight I served up the final bottle of what has been my favourite wine for several years, Petillant de Syrah. It tasted good. To start with. I didn't drink it at the rate I used to (when it almost went down like water), and once the food was gone I found I was actually having to force myself to drink it. The taste no longer pleases me.

Is this a permanent state? It's hard to imagine otherwise, because I suspect I'm going to remain on this five pints of water a day lark for the rest of my life. Unless I get a blood test result that says I'm 'cured - but I'm not sure if such a thing is actually possible.

What a peculiar outcome to an illness.

Saxophone fail?

CITY OF FESTIVALS, CITY OF RAIN

Following on from yesterday's Mardi Gras, today saw the Festival Parade come down The Mound to a Princes Street lined with spectators.  Although we've already had the Film Festival, and the Jazz Festival has just got under way, this event is a kind of marker to recognise the Festival season in the city.  With the big one just a few weeks away now.

The colourful line up took about forty minutes to shimmy past our viewing spot, and included drumming bands, samba bands, jazz bands, dancers, acrobats, a lengthy Chinese dragon and an aggressive looking bunch in lemon pyjamas.  All ages were included and it had a strong community feel to the activities.  Spectacular colours in costumes and make up, flamboyance a given, even a bit of decent music thrown in.  And if some of the costumes had an amateurish feel to them that only added to the sense that this was an event that people wanted to be a part of, not just some marketing person's notion of a good time.

Best of all, the event began in strong sunshine, succumbed to a bit of crowd cover, but with no hint of rain.  Yet.

For the rest of the afternoon we planned to take in some of the free outdoor jazz available around town.  In the Grassmarket we came across a raucous young band playing a mix of jazz, latin, ska and rock and roll.  Rumba de Bodas are a seven piece Italian group fronted by a Mediterranean version of Imelda May.  What a fabulous strong voice.

A rocking good time under the shadow of the castle was spoiled a bit by arrival of a few drops of rain.  Swiftly followed by a downpour.  The trees provided a bit of cover, but not enough and much of the crowd headed for the pubs and cafes around.  The band saw through their set, but further acts were denied their opportunity.  Probably a wise move with all that electrical gear and only a flimsy canopy over the stage.

Still it was fun while it lasted, and it had felt a bit too hot earlier on - there were ginger locals in peril from that burny yellow thing in the sky.  So a bit of refreshment was probably overdue.  This city likes to provide a good mix of everything.

Saxophones keep the rain at bay

NEW ORLEANS COMES TO EDINBURGH

Yesterday (the 17th) the 2015 Edinburgh Jazz & Blues Festival began, and it runs until 26th July.  Today the Grassmarket was turned over to the Mardi Gras, a three hour celebration of music.

Despite forecasts of storms across Scotland the event was favoured with near ideal conditions.  A stiff breeze kept the clouds scudding across the skies, giving long spells of blue and plenty warmth.  The thousands who turned up could be entertained and sunned simultaneously.

Three stages and a marching band area made for plenty choice, as did the variety of musical styles on offer.  My favourite were a group of fruitcake Italians who played with the crowd, got them involved, and provided almost as much laughter as foot tapping.

And the whole event was covered by one of my favourite words.  Free.

Thinking of coming to The Fringe?

FIRST TIME FRINGING

A few people have been asking my advice about coming to the Edinburgh Fringe for the first time and, having provided a load of (hopefully) useful information I thought it might be of interest to others making their way here for their first August.

I'm not going to touch on accommodation since, as a resident of the city, I have no experience of what's what.  My only suggestions would be to book as many months ahead as possible, and try not to stay too far away from the centre, budget permitting.

And I'm going to stick to talking about The Fringe, with no reference to the International Festival, the Book Festival, or the Politics Festival (or even the Fringe by the Sea a few miles along the coast in North Berwick!).  But much of what I'm setting down here applies anyway.

Of course what kind of Festival experience you end up having depends on a huge variety of factors.  Your own tastes, budget, the number of days you are able to spend here and how adventurous you are.  But if you're baffled where to even begin then the following might just give you a starting point.

WHAT TO SEE

All good things must have a beginning and the best way to plan your time here is to get your hands on the Fringe Programme as early as possible.  It comes out in early June.

Which can immediately paralyse the decision making processes.  At over 400 pages, and with up to a dozen shows on each page, the first question is usually 'where do I start?'.  There are over 3,000 shows scattered across more than 300 venues so paucity of choice is not a problem.

There's also the Fringe website, which begins listing some shows in Spring, so you could choose to book some early and spread the cost of tickets.  The website allows you to search for acts if you know some key words for the kind of shows you want to see.  Whereas the paper version is probably a better bet if you want to browse and see what catches your eye.

If comedy is your thing you're both in and out of luck, because it's by far the largest section in the programme.  You'll see names in there you recognise off the telly, and/or radio, but don't let them distract you too much.  Have a look for shows that sound interesting and do a bit of research about their past reviews, maybe see if they're on YouTube.

The Fringe has venues dotted about the city, but the vast majority are in three adjoining areas of the centre.  Going from north to south these are
1. The New Town, centred on George Street and Saint Andrews Square.  (It's New in that it only dates back to the late 18th century.)
2. The Old Town, centred on the Royal Mile between the Castle and Holyrood.
3. The University district, usually centred on Bristo Square, although for 2015 that's less the case as there's a lot of redevelopment work taking place there.  Which means even more activity in George Square than usual.

If you're planning your days I'd suggest trying to stick to shows in one of those areas on each day.  Less hassle having to rush from one venue to another.  But more on that below.

It all depends on how hard core you want to be - I've known people to do ten shows a day - but cramming shows into every waking hour is only worth the effort if you're here for a couple of days at most.  Not only does it become exhausting, but you miss out on so many other aspects of the Fringe experience if you adopt that approach.  So I'd recommend only pre-booking a couple of shows each day, some of them from people you have never heard of, and letting fate take a bit of a hand the rest of the time.

Fate can hit you in several ways.  You should, at least once while you're here, go for a daytime walk down the High Street, in the pedestrian area running from George IV Bridge down to the Tron Kirk.  (This is also where you'll find the Fringe office, so you may be drawn there naturally.)  Do plan to allow yourself a bit of time.  You'll need it.  Because unless the heavens have opened you will be faced with a sizeable crowd, few of whom are looking where they're going.  (If you don't like crowds this may not be the place to go, but if you don't like crowds what on earth are you doing in Edinburgh in August?)  You will also be confronted by a small army, many of them in outlandish costumes, brandishing fliers at you.  You'll be tempted to ignore them.  Don't.  They are working their butts off to try and get people along to their shows, so at least take the proffered flier, and talk to a few of them along the way.  The results can be extremely funny, and fate may feel like nudging you in the direction of their show.

This area also hosts several outdoor stages and performance areas.  On a couple there are casts doing short acts aimed at tempting you to come and see their full length offerings.  There are music stages with a huge variety of acts appearing, many of them making their living from busking (so don't forget to donate something if you enjoy the performance).  And professional street entertainers, usually doing some form of physical comedy.  There are a few who do something really spectacular (look out for a Canadian called Stickman), but after years of Fringe going I have decided that there are only so many fire-eating, unicycling jugglers I can take!

Then there are the various Free Fringes running under the overall Fringe banner.  Some of their shows are in the big programme, but not all.  The two most important are PBH's Free Fringe and the Laughing Horse Free Festival.  Although the shows are on their websites it's a good idea to get to one of their venues as soon as you can and pick up their paper programmes.

'Free' is a misnomer of course.  It's free to get in the door, but there's a bucket to pay into when you leave, and you put in what you feel the show was worth.  So you know the performer(s) will be trying their hardest to entertain you.  There's a certain amount of snobbery attached to the Free Fringe from people who say you'll find nothing decent to watch there.  Nonsense.  In my experience the range of quality, from simply superb to catastrophically crap, is little different from that you'll find in the ticketed shows.  I've been to see Phill Jupitus on the free fringe, and this year one of Scotland's top comedians, Janey Godley has chosen this route rather than feeling she's getting ripped off again by one of the big venues.  We've found some of our favourite acts this way and the likes of Aidan Goatley, Kelly Kingham and Chris Coltrane are often far funnier than "that guy we know from off Mock the Week".  And how you could resist going to see "The Danish Bagpipe Comedian"?  (Recommended!)  So make sure you leave time to go see some of these people.  Oh, and the PBH Fringe also has one of the best venues in the city to visit, the Voodoo Rooms.

Finally I'd suggest a visit to the half price ticket hut on Princes Street.  There's a big display showing what's available later that day and it's a good way of discovering someone you never knew you liked.

If I was to distil all this into one aphorism it would be "Don't try to enjoy yourself all the time".  Which might sound like strange advice.  The fun of the Fringe is finding stuff you never even knew existed.  As a rule of thumb I'd say that if at least 10% of what you end up seeing wasn't to your taste, or proved too hard to understand, or was just a bit shit, then you probably haven't been doing it right.  Take a few risks in your choice of shows and you'll get a lot more out of your time. Trust me.

Throughout the Fringe period I'll be posting reviews of shows I've seen on my Go Live blog, so if want some recommendations....

GETTING AROUND

Walk.  As much as your feet and health and stamina allow.  There's a lot to see and some of it might surprise you.  Just accept that everywhere you go it will be uphill and into the wind.  Even on the way back.

But if you're staying out of town you're lucky that Edinburgh has one of the best bus services around.  Worth having a look at the Lothian Buses website before you come and check out which services will be of use - and if your accommodation has a night bus service near by.

The bit that catches out most newcomers is that no change is given on the buses.  So you may want to come armed with a good supply of pound coins and 50p pieces.  A single fare (any distance) is £1.50, a day ticket allowing unlimited usage on the day) is £4.  So if you think you'll take more than two buses that day then grab the second option.

There are a couple of options that can save lugging all that change around.  If you have a smartphone there's an app that allows you to buy tickets and flash your phone at the driver as you get on board.  Minimum purchase is £10 and you can buy both single and day tickets.  This is the Android version.  There's also a great app that lets you see how long you will have to wait for the next bus to turn up (although the same info is displayed on Tracker boards at many stops in the city centre).  Once again, here's the Android version.

If you're going to be here for five days or more it may be worth going into one of the Lothian Buses Travelshops and getting a Ridacard.  A seven day card costs £18, plus £3 for the card itself and having your photo taken.  For twenty eight days the charge is £54.  You can do the sums yourself.  It's the most hassle free way to travel, and you get to keep the card for your next visit (you'll be back).

And when you go to get the card remind yourself this isn't a passport - you're allowed to smile in your photo.

A couple of bits of bus etiquette.  Stick your hand out to get your bus to stop or you may see it fly past.  And the locals, well most of us, are in the habit of saying thanks to the driver as we get off.  It's just what we do here.  Join in.

AND FINALLY

Although your main reason for being here is to get to those shows, take a bit of time to find out why Edinburgh is a big tourist attraction throughout the year.

Stand at one of the junctions on George Street and look north to see the Forth glistening and hills of Fife in the distance.

Go and see the Floral Clock (on Princes Street, on the other side of The Mound from the Art Gallery).

Go up Calton Hill for the views (and to stand on the spot where TV journalists love to interview politicians), or climb up the steps inside the Scott Monument.

Walk down Victoria Street, that steep curving chunk of old architecture that seems to feature in every film drama set in the city.

Have fun.

EVEL is the enemy of Democracy

NO TAXATION WITHOUT REPRESENTATION

A phrase which first gained prominence during the American revolution which led to the creation of the USA and remains extremely relevant today.  It is one of the fundamental principles of representative democracy, and any attempt to undermine it should be resisted as undemocratic.

If a citizen is required to pay tax to the state then the state must return the compliment by giving that citizen a vote to choose their representative in the legislative process.  And that representative must have the right to comment and vote upon all measures which determine how the citizen's money will be spent.  Simple enough, eh?

Which is why the Westminster government's proposals for English Votes for English Laws, aka EVEL, is fundamentally undemocratic.

It's not as if I have any objection to votes on strictly England-related matters being restricted to English representatives.  That seems fair, sensible, and points the way towards a fully federalised UK.  Or it should do, but that's not what EVEL proposes.

And it's interesting to see that while there is much in the mainstream media about the 'disgraceful' behaviour of the SNP in deciding to vote against the repeal of fox hunting in England, now postponed by a Tory government lacking the courage to risk an embarrassing defeat, there is no comparable anguish expressed when English MPs vote down SNP proposals for greater powers to be added to the Scotland Bill.  Even though the SNP, with 50% of the national vote at the General Election, has a much stronger democratic mandate that the Tories and their 35%....

EVEL proponents like to compare the proposals with the situation in the Scottish parliament.  English MPs are unable to vote at Holyrood, but Scottish MPs can vote at Westminster.  At a simplistic level this sounds a vaguely convincing argument, ignoring the fact that this isn't just a comparison between apples and pears, more like matching a fruit against a JCB.  And therein lies the problem.

English MPs do have a say on which laws can be passed in Scotland.  They are part of the process that decided what powers, and budget, Holyrood is able to exercise.  But once that decision has been made those powers and that money are devolved to the control of Holyrood.  It is a comparable process to the central government block grant handed to local authorities.  And nobody is saying that Westminster representatives should have a say in the running of a county council or London Borough, are they?

For EVEL to become properly democratic it requires a similar arrangement.  An allocated sum of money, and the relevant powers, devolved to a body responsible for administering them.  In other words, an English Parliament.  Failure to do so means that, even where the legislation concerned only has direct impact on England, it is UK taxpayers money that is being spent.  And if that's the case then my opening statement, that fundamental democratic principle, is being trampled over.  Scottish, Welsh and Northern Irish MPs MUST have the right to vote on these matters if the monies involved come from their constituents taxes.

Whether or not this fact is owned up to, it's likely that the current EVEL idea will collapse through it's own incompetence.  Westminster legislation is a jumble of laws which apply not just to different countries within the union, but different combinations of countries as well.  Good luck sorting that lot out in a hurry....

There are only workable two answers to the West Lothian Question.  A fully federal UK.  Or a break up of the UK.  If the Tory government prefer the latter, but aren't prepared to admit it, then EVEL might well be the best way to achieve it.

The proposals are unfair to Scotland.  They're unfair to England.  And, worst of all, they are wholly undemocratic.  The coming months are a challenge to some of the most basic principles of how we seek to run our society.

Upsetting the Witnesses

SORRY MICKY, BUT I CAN'T JOIN YOU IN BEING A BELIEVER

We've all had them on the front step.  You have to admire their persistence, despite so many doors slammed in faces.  The Jehovah's Witnesses just keep on turning up, or hanging around street corners, hoping to find someone desperate/vulnerable enough to take on board their strange beliefs.  My usual response is "sorry, but I try not to be superstitious at all", and see what happens from there.  The superstition bit sometimes throws them, so it can get quite interesting.  They haven't converted me yet.  Sadly, I haven't managed to convert one of them either, but that's no reason to give up....

I was brought up 'in' the Church of Scotland, but on a very low gas.  I'm not sure if my father believed in anything at all, and probably just went along with it to placate my mother.  She 'believed' because that's what you were supposed to do, and the greatest possible sin in her eyes was the flouting of social conventions.  I can vaguely recall attending Sunday School at the local church, and there was the usual half-hearted attempts at religious indoctrination in school.  Did I ever believe any of this stuff?  Maybe as a small child, but by my early teens I was pretty certain it was all nonsense.

In my twenties I called myself an agnostic, because I thought it would be fairer to acknowledge the existence of doubt.  As I got older that seemed too lukewarm so I took to saying I was an atheist.  And now, older and (possibly) wiser, I can no longer see the point in these labels.  Why should I have to define myself by my non-belief in something that seems clearly made up in the first place?

A view I should perhaps justify, so here's what I discussed with one of those tenacious door knockers.

How many religions are there in the world?  I doubt anyone knows the real number, but I did see a figure of around 4,500 quoted once, and that sounds entirely believable.  As far as I'm aware every human society developed some form of supernatural belief system as part of their development.  Deeply held tenets, often codified, that made some effort to understand the world around them and, often, provide guidance on how to behave in life.  And ascribing an ability to influence human affairs to some form of supernatural power.  The latter might be embodied in the sun, or the moon, a wide river or high mountain, a volcano or forest, perhaps the local major carnivorous predator.  Some thing which could be worshipped, prayed to, act as a focal point for the belief system.

Greater sophistication brought greater imagination, and the powers were attributed to imaginary beings.  Sometimes in human form, sometimes animal, even curious hybrids between the two.  Eventually one religion came up with the notion of there being a single being, a god, which was omnipotent, and this would go on to spawn two descendants, Christianity and Islam, which have become amongst the most successful in spreading around the world.

Why did these emergent feel the need to develop such beliefs?  Given how universal they are, and how varied, I can see two possible broad conclusions which might be drawn.  The most likely explanation is the desire to know how you fit into the universe.  The need to have an explanation for why you are here and what purpose is there to your existence.  The answer to what has come to be know as The Human Condition.

And in world without science, where the physical world was vast, confusing and often unintelligible, there was a need to seek out explanations for the inexplicable.  If you can't see any rational reason for your life, then an irrational one will do instead.

Or.  Possibly there is some form of supernatural power out there, but thus far beyond the understanding of human knowledge, and religions are the efforts we have made to attempt to fill in that gap.  Although, if that were really the case, wouldn't there be a greater convergence of thinking?

One fact strikes me as critical to this line of thought.  There has never been (do correct me if I'm wrong) an occasion where two societies came into contact for the first time and, on finding out more about one another's culture, suddenly went "heh, that's what we believe too!".  You might have expected, if one of these belief systems had actually got it 'right', something similar might have developed at some other point on the globe as well....

Not that there has tended to be much discussion when two societies meet, with brutal subjugation being the norm.  It's notable that the two biggies I mentioned above, Christianity and Islam, have been spread around as much by military conquest as any form of persuasive art.

All of which means that, unlike Micky Dolenz of The Monkees, there's no chance of me ever becoming a believer.

When Scotland is better than England....

THERE ARE TIMES WHEN I HAVE TO LOVE SCOTLAND

Regular readers will know that I voted Yes in the Independence Referendum last September. Not that I'm a nationalist, but it seemed like the only route open to the possibility of a more socially just society, an aspiration that Westminster seems a million miles away from. I'd be perfectly happy to change my mind and stay with the UK if something significantly changed for the better. Were Labour to come to their senses, return to their roots and choose Jeremy Corbyn as the next leader then there might be some hope. But how likely is that?

Which is a long winded way of saying that I have no truck with the Scottish good/English bad mantras of the more extreme elements of the SNP. My argument is with the UK political establishment, not the English. But there are some moments when it's hard not to conclude that we not only do things a bit differently up here, but sometimes a bit better as well.  And yesterday morning on Twitter was definitely one of those moments.

Katie McGarvey tweeted :

Thinking of finally joining a party in run up to Scottish elections to help campaign properly. Heart says Green, head says SNP. 😩 #help

It's hard to imagine what happened next taking place in England.

Within minutes she had a response from our First Minister saying "I accept I might be a bit biased...but I hope I can persuade you to make it @theSNP". Somewhat bemused by this, Katie decided to be cheeky and see if the Greens' Patrick Harvie could make her a better offer. Free chocolate maybe? (Fair Trade, of course!). Patrick swiftly replied that he'd been known to turn up at branch meetings with a cake and maybe that would do?

That precipitated an exchange that ended up with yet another Holyrood party leader joining in the cake debate, and Nicola complaining that her well known lack of kitchen skills were being mocked. You can see the tweets in this article in the Herald, and The Scotsman joined in the fun as well.

OK, it would be naive not to recognise that high profile politicians have staff handling their social media accounts for them, so it may not have all been the actual leaders themselves. Ms Sturgeon is a busy individual. All the same they will at least be responsible for setting the tone of their communications.

But can you imagine any of the Westminster party leaders (and I include Angus Robertson in this) doing something similar?  Can you imagine their image makers allowing such a thing to happen?  I can't.  

It's perhaps no coincidence tha,t of our five main party leaders, only one is of the traditional white, straight male variety.  And he, the LibDem leader, is probably the least likely to be seen behaving in the above manner.  Even the leader of the Scottish Tories, much as I disagree with her policies, is  often likeable and funny.  And, perhaps bizarrely, the Scottish leader of ukip is gay, albeit a total moron....

The referendum shook up the whole country and created a much more politically conscious nation.  We had a General Election result that was a shock, even for the winners.  And Nicola was the only party leader to emerge from the TV debates with positive approval ratings, with many in England wishing they could vote for her and her party.  Politics is different in Scotland.  And sometimes a lot more human than anything we see coming from London.

A new me?

GOING BACK

We moved into our new flat just before last Xmas and we're still in love with it.  Sometimes it's hard to believe that we found it.  Not only does it meet all the criteria we'd set before we began our search, but there are a few extras we never expected to find.  I mean, how many flats in Edinburgh come with their own garage, and even a bit an area behind it that just about qualifies as a shed?  We are also, as residents of the complex, entitled to make use of the small on site gym.

We used to go to a gym regularly.  For about seven years, beginning in 2000, we were part of the hardy sect who frequently turned up by 7am and put in an hour before going home, breakfasting and getting into work.  For the first time in my life I added a bit of  muscle to my spindly frame, and I felt fitter than I had since my twenties.  But, for a variety of reasons, the motivation began to fail and attendance trailed off into nothingness.  By the time we'd retired our gym days looked to be behind us.

In the past eighteen months I've had a few minor health worries.  There were problems with my knees, and the gout attacks I've blogged about in the past.  Signs of the inevitable decline in physical ability that we all have to face up to eventually.  It feels like half my life is now occupied with stretches and exercises and pills and diet aimed at putting off collapse for as long as possible....

The major factor in fending off future gout attacks is maintaining a high hydration level, but it's also recommended to keep physically fit.  Exercise, but try not to sweat too much!  I do try to use the stairs up to the flat every day (we're on the fifth floor), but that's not much of a regime.  About time I tried using that wee gym.

As I'm on my own for a couple of weeks this seemed like a good time to give it a go.  So I planned to go there by around ten this morning (no point in overdoing things, is there...).  Well, that was the plan.  But a part of my brain decided to sow a few doubts.  If my body has been guilty of letting me down recently, why would I think it was up to doing something energetic?  Wasn't I setting myself up for failure?  Wasn't there a risk that I might incur more damage than benefit?  Why take the risk?

This internal dialogue, combined with my legendary ability to procrastinate, let the hours slip by, and by, until I could finally convince myself to stop being stupid and just go for it.  And so it became early afternoon (oh, alright, mid....) when I finally made my way along to the gym building.  Discovered I'd brought the wrong key fob with me, went back for it, returned, let myself in.

Guess what?  It was (almost) fun.  I didn't do much (and I'm not going to embarrass myself by saying just how little), paced myself carefully, but did work up a sweat.  What was I worrying about?  I think I'll enjoy being back and seeing if I can reclaim some of that long lost muscle.  And maybe I can get up to the fifth floor without calling for oxygen.

As I sit here typing I have muscles aching like they haven't ached in a very long time.

But I'm aching smugly.