Hit the Road, Dave.
And don’t you come back no more, no more, no more, no more. Hit the the road Nick and don’t you bother heading back this way either or actually any of those other articles in Westminster. Unfortunately, every once in a while, they do. Like a couple of weeks ago, they all packed their spotted hankies with expenses paid butties, pop and crisps and headed North. The whole job lot, expenses paid, with their sharp suits, allegedly different ideas based on the colour of their neckerchiefs and their beaming false smiles and promises.
All of the rascals, climbed aboard the FlyingScotsman, no doubt, First Class, all expenses paid with prawn sarnies and Chablis for breakfast and Elevenses, preparing to meet what they thought were a bunch of soft Labour loveys. Now here’s a thought, just a notion, a wee concept: heading in the opposite direction, that is southbound, given that entire population of Westminster was heading to their homeland, the entIre 45% on trains, buses, planes, mopeds, in cars, vans, lorries and any other form of transport available. While the capital was empty the 45% could have head further south than their most southerly outpost previous. London, could have have been taken whilst the Londoners were wandering around George Square searching for a single, solitary Scot.
Just an idea but and one which would ever have taken place and you know why? Because everyone was too busy waiting for Dave’s heart to break. “Whit did you do when we was first indy Granpa?” “I watched that bassa Cameron die of a broke heart, it was uplifting”.