‘Tis the Season to be easin’

It’s that time of the year again when we eat too much, drink too much, and wake up the next day with a killer hangover, which is just your body’s way of saying :”Go and stay in your room young man/lady, and think very carefully about what you have done.” This is because getting drunk is more fun than being drunk, both of which are more fun than dealing with the aftermath the following day. But it’s also the season for gift giving. Given the Westminster mismanagement of the energy industry and the ruinously expensive fuel bills we are all facing, together with the threat of blackouts in a Scotland which produces and exports far more energy than it needs for domestic consumption, this year a lump of coal might actually be a good Christmas present.

This is also the season when all good supporters of Scottish independence get to indulge in the annual Christmas Day tradition of rushing to change the channel when the heid bummer royal’s Christmas Day message to the peasants comes on the telly while muttering, “Well, he’s not MY bloody spaniel!” This year following the death of the Queen, it’s the King’s Christmas Get That Pish Aff the Telly. According to her death certificate, the Queen died of old age. This is as plausible as Prince Andrew’s peculiar sweat free medical condition. No one dies of old age. Your body is not an egg timer or a certain brand of smart phone. It doesn’t automatically expire after a particular period of time. People die because something goes wrong with them. Things have been going wrong for the Windsors for quite some time, but we still have to endure Nicolas Bloody Witchell, to give him his full name, wittering on about them.

Royalty, they are basically just state sponsored influencers, like having to pay extra in tax so Kim Kardashian / Kate Middleton (delete as appropriate) can model some ruinously expensive coat and use their children as lifestyle accessories so that some sweat shop in China can flog off ridiculously over priced merch that will end up in a charity shop in the not too distant future.

It’s also the time of year when there is bugger all worth watching on telly, particularly if you are of a Bah Humbug persuasion. It’s wall to wall enforced jollity. The older I get, the more the festive season makes me understand why the Grinch just wanted to live by himself with his dog.

The other thing that traditionally happens this time of year is that politicians bugger off home to spend time with their families, or in Rishi Sunak’s case, to spend time with his money. Boris Johnson doesn’t go off to spend time with his family, because that would mean acknowledging that he has one. This means that there are very thin pickings for those of us who write about Scottish independence politics, and that is my cue to take some time off for the holidays. In the meantime have a great Christmas and a Happy New Year when it comes. I will see you all in 2023, when there is bound to be plenty to talk about.


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