WHO would have thought Jimmy Savile would help bring down the Conservative Party? Isn’t it wonderful?
The Prime Minister lies about the Labour leader’s decision not to prosecute the well-connected pervert and suddenly five of his staff are rattling out CVs faster than you can say, ‘Dastardly and Mutley.’
And when a party faces such defections, you know they’re in the midst of an existentialist crisis.
Thankfully, the SNP have never suffered such ignominious exiteering – if you discount Joanna Cherry and Kenny MacAskill – oh and Neale Hanvey and one or two others. There’s Salmond too of course, but we don’t speak of him. Anyway, we ignore talk of schisms and rebellion. We like to refer to our departures as Darwinian deselection.
Anyway, you can see why the millionaire simple crofter that I am is fit to burst with joy. And I have to say I hope my performance in the House played a little part. I labelled him a liar, as you know, and I suppose you want to know if my big exit was stage-managed, given Jack Straw has suggested I’m a panto villain?
Well, our spin people won’t allow me to show you the script that may or may not have been written for the occasion. And I can’t confirm if The Tivoli in Aberdeen have asked of my availability this year, hinting that a Twankey costume is having my name tag sewn in as we speak.
But I will tell you this; didn’t it make sense that Steve McQueen’s Corporal Hilts in the Great Escape got himself sent to the cooler deliberately? Wasn’t the blue-eyed, blond handsome hero right to sacrifice himself for the greater good?
No, I’m not an acting legend like McQueen. But I like to think of myself as showman, having won the recent Skye Crofter’s Association Karaoke Competition, singing Scotland the Brave, of course – although I did consider Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep as a possible option.
But I digress. It’s Boris we’re talking about. And it’s getting so easy to trash him. Look how he’s avoiding the Shell windfall question. Well, I can say categorically if Scotland were independent, we wouldn’t find that acceptable at all.
I can’t tell you what we would do about it, but that’s not the point. The point is Johnson is on the ropes. As I continue to ask him; ‘Where were you on November 13, Prime Minister?’
But he doesn’t know. I do, of course, being at home polishing the silver framed photo of Nicola and Peter, buffing it ‘till it shone like the buckles on my best kilt.
Why can’t he just man up? Why can’t he be Raith Rovers, and say ‘OK, we hired a wrong ‘un, and we may have failed to read the room on this one.’
Mind you, there’s one thing worse than having Boris Johnson as Prime Minister. And that’s not having him as PM.
If he goes, the chances for me to showboat could be limited.