Naw First Minister! E-Book

Allan Morrison

• Herausgeber: Luath Press
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 167

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

With no party having a majority it was decided the position of First Minister should go to neutral, AGSTLO (Ah m Gonnae Sort This Lot Oot party) MSP, Big Nellie Nellis, a controversial imposing lady with the relics of beauty still on her face, unapologetically long legs which look as though they could stretch into different time zones, and bosoms requiring their own postal codes. Her over-bearing appearance and vibrancy, assisted by a continually refilled hip flask of single malt, make her formidable to all and sundry. Forget Mrs Thatcher, Mrs Merkel, Mrs Gillard, Mrs Meir and Ms Sturgeon. These women were absolute softies compared to Big Nellie. When Big Nellie Nellis bounds into Scottish politics after a fish supper and a cockup too far, her brash reason wins an electorate weary of the pointless jabbering of a divided Parliament. However, shaking up the status quo of Holyrood sets some slippery MSPs delving into Nellie s past to uncover the truth about Scotland s least likely political leader.

Leseprobe

ALLAN MORRISON is a prolific author. His previous books includeGoanae No Dae That;Last Tram Tae Auchenshuggle; Haud ma Chips Ah’ve Drapped the Wean; andShould’ve Gone Tae Specsavers, Ref!; His media appearances includeThe One Show, Richard and Judy, STV’sRiverside Show, The Fred McAulay Showand BBC Radio’sOut of Doors.

Allan is involved in charity work, is a speaker at various events, enjoys hill-walking, sport and travel. He and his wife live in the West of Scotland and he is the proud grandfather of four grandchildren. Allan is an ardent ‘undecided’ voter, and as such is unsure whether Big Nellie Nellis would have got his vote.

‘Naw First Minister!’

Irascible Big Nellie Nellis Becomes Scotland’s

First Minister… pity help Scotland!

ALLAN MORRISON

with illustrations by

BOB DEWAR

Luath Press Limited

EDINBURGH

www.luath.co.uk

First Published 2015

ISBN: (EBK) 978-1-910324-71-4

(BK) 978-1-910745-17-5

The author’s right to be identified as author of this work under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 has been asserted.

© Allan Morrison 2015

Contents

Acknowledgements

Preface

Scottish Parliament Characters inNaw First Minister

Introduction

CHAPTER 1: In the Beginning was the Word

CHAPTER 2: Big Nellie’s Inaugural Speech as First Minister

CHAPTER 3: Squeaky Bum Time!

CHAPTER 4: Go Ahead, Make My Day!

CHAPTER 5: The Investigation

CHAPTER 6: On Desert Island Discs

CHAPTER 7: A Working Majority

CHAPTER 8: Dirty Pool

CHAPTER 9: Love and the Royals

CHAPTER 10: Intrigue

CHAPTER 11: Exposed!

CHAPTER 12: Hold the Front Page!

BBCNews Bulletin

CHAPTER 13: How the Scottish Parliament Actually Operates

Further Big Nellie ‘Whollyrude’ observations

NOTE: All Scottish Parliament characters in this book are entirely fictitious and in no way relate to anyone living or dead.

Acknowledgements

My sincere thanks go to Mark Philip Jones, Craig Morrison, Lynne Roper, Archie Wilson, John and Morag Wilson, plus various other voters who must collectively share the blame forNaw First Minister!

Preface

SCOTLAND’S PARLIAMENTis no longer in its infancy, having been in existence since the 1 July 1999 when it was first convened in a temporary location at the Mound, Edinburgh. Subsequently it moved to its permanent home at the Scottish Parliament Building at Holyrood, with the first debates taking place on 7 September 2004.

During this time it has matured into an established seat of government, taking on the many characteristics of parliaments and governing bodies worldwide. Politicians in Scotland are now just like their counterparts elsewhere, making it high time to poke some fun at our homegrown political machine.

Scottish Parliament characters inNaw First Minister

FIRST MINISTER

Nellie Nellis (Referred to as ‘Big Nellie’, plus a multitude of very naughty words used by her political enemies).

DEPUTY FIRST MINISTER

Murdo McAlpine (Referred to as ‘Alaska’, always seeking advice from Nellie. Is seen by many as a bit of a Uriah Heep).

BIG NELLIE’S TRUSTY PA

Fraser MacLeod (Known as ‘Razzle Dazzle’ because of his blonde locks). Responsible for speechwriting, political research and strategy.

SCOTTISH LABOUR LEADER

Brian Duddy (Known as the ‘Dud’).

SCOTTISH CONSERVATIVE AND UNIONIST PARTY LEADER

Alex Humphrey (Known as ‘Humph’… as in ‘Gets up everybody’s humph’).

SCOTTISH NATIONAL PARTY LEADER

Neil Forbes (Known as ‘Domestos’, as he is considered by many to be round the bend).

SCOTTISH GREEN PARTY LEADER

Diana Duncan (Referred to as ‘Neon’, a right tube if ever there was one).

SCOTTISH LIBERAL DEMOCRAT LEADER

Tom Smith (Known as ‘Thrombosis’, considered a bit of a clot). Someone who has fallen down the political ladder.

PRESIDING OFFICER

Jeanie Cameron (Known as ‘Genie’, shouts ‘Order, order’, and seems to magically appear when someone opens a bottle).

CONVENER OF ECONOMY, ENERGY AND TOURISM COMMITTEE

James Nevis (Called ‘Ben’).

CONVENOR OF FINANCE COMMITTEE

George Woods (Known as ‘Wonga’).

CONVENOR OF RURAL AFFAIRS, CLIMATE CHANGE AND ENVIRONMENTAL COMMITTEE

Hugh Rae (Known as ‘Hip Hip’).

‘See that Scottish Parliament Building, it looks like a bingo hall frae the front, a Hong Kong brothel at the back, and it’s got mair deadwood than the stockade at the OK Corral. Furthermore, it produces mair gas than the hale o’ the North Sea.’

BIG NELLIE NELLIS

Introduction

Naw first minister!takes a radically different political path to that of the wonderfulBBCseries,Yes Minister.

Yes Minister featured the ongoing battle of wits between civil servants and their political masters.Naw First Ministerstars Big Nellie Nellis as First Minister, who, fed up with politicians’ machinations, makes it her ambition to ‘sort that lot oot’ at Holyrood, a place where she says people eat and drink too much and do nothing but pick cleverly worded fights in a labyrinth of deceit.

Whether at St Andrew’s House, which accommodates part of the Scottish Government, or at Bute House, the First Minister’s official residence, or at the Parliament Building, this self-assured mistress of plain speech doesn’t miss and hit the wall when it comes to laying out her ambitions. She’s not slow to express her contempt for a prescriptive parliament with its apparently piffling rules. EvenMSPs infamously renowned as ‘no wallflowers’ are routinely brushed aside by a nicotine-spewn bark of contemptuous, unparliamentarily caustic language several decibels louder than the average person’s, a trait which serves to increase Big Nellie’s formidable status. Pompous, pretentious, flippery, stodgy old-stagers, blowhards and any turbo-charged hecklers are quickly punctured. Individuals having fruity twangs to their voices are particular targets, and now look at Nellie open-mouthed with the fixation of the mildly deranged.

Many established members are thrown aside with this seismic shift, or indeed tossed to the baying mob despite the prompting of party spin-doctors. A number ofMSPs who have clearly failed in their attempts to unsettle Big Nellie through tantrums, bust-ups, battles of wits, stooshies and power plays, have caused much media gossip leading to them being deselected by mutinous local associations, given the heave-ho, and whizzed into oblivion.

Opponents have found her cerebral chutzpah and tidal wave of directness of speech unusual in the political field. They find her verve deceptive, especially with her scathing attacks when the diaphanous mists of anger seem to wreathe around her head and she sweeps through opponents like a wrecking ball. Anyone launching a stealth campaign against her, or trying to be king-of-the-castle, is in for a rude awakening for Nellie always seems to win full-blown stairheid rammies.

What the spellbound listeners, hanging onto her every word, assume to be off-the-cuff remarks are, in a small number of cases, the result of Nellie’s tooled-up preparation, designed to give a memorable sound bite. This can sometimes be creative in the primal Caledonian unpleasantness-inflicting department, hitting below the belt. Her true overall genius can however be heard in some absolute belter of a bolt-from-the-blue inspired phrase, delivered with stone cold unshakeable certainty. She’s certainly a self-assured extrovert with a razor-sharp mind, an unquenchable optimist, and with a talent for pricking pomposity while very, very occasionally delivering a line in self-deprecation. This lady enjoys being a serial winner and is a law unto herself.

When the harassed Presiding Officer in the debating chamber shouts, ‘Orrrder!’, the command is immediately ignored by the First Minister with Big Nellie steadfastly continuing to hammer home her points, her voice only changing in volume and speed.

Politicians are normally selective about appearing on television and radio programmes where they can be interrogated by interviewers keen to make their mark on unsuspecting victims. In Nellie’s case broadcasters are now most reluctant to lock verbal horns, fearing her robust style of communication and general demeanour. She has proved impervious to all their interrogation techniques. Nellie’s steely gaze, forever backed up by a unique intellect and wisdom achieved from life’s school of hard knocks, would certainly frighten most. There were scuttlebutt rumours that some of her family were into organised crime in Glasgow; therefore it was only logical Nellie chose the disorganised criminal scene of the Scottish Parliament.

But no one should envy the scale of the challenge facing Nellie in this most testing of jobs, especially sorting out the hellish merry-go-round of committee meetings much favoured byMSPs, dodging responsibility while scratching around for controversies with which to feed their party leaders’ egos. However, as Nellie thinks in the most simplistic of terms, and is usually able to quickly analyse any situation, it is not so easy for her opponents.

The basic problem for the other parties, now riven by backbench in-fighting, is that there is scant prospect of removing her with a vote of no confidence as her poll ratings in Scotland have risen to astronomical heights, and she has enough feral instinct to scent the breeze and kill off any aspiring challenge.

It was necessary for Nellie, as First Minister, to have a deputy. Having seen the new First Minister in action, the party leaders insisted that an established, well-respectedMSPbe appointed. He lasted almost three months before his ever increasing blood pressure triggered a heart attack. Next up for this key role was a recognised apparatchik of the Scottish political scene, someone who had been in politics all of his adult life. He made it past three months before her hair-trigger temper caused a nervous breakdown. Finally, Murdo McAlpine, a soft-spoken Highlander was persuaded to take on the post. Certainly it was no dream ticket. However, McAlpine sensibly opted for a low profile, apparently deciding just to go along with Nellie’s proposals and opinions.

Big Nellie’s leadership and roguish glamour has attracted enormous popular and critical acclaim well beyond Scotland. Many of her manifesto proposals have been seen not just as innovative, but visionary. Indeed, her international appeal now commands respect and deference. She has been voted Scotland’s top celebrity, the best export since macaroon bars and, with her image and quotes continually appearing on news and social media throughout the globe, tourism has significantly increased.

The philosopher, Isaiah Berlin, once said that the art of great leadership should be founded on personal instinct, flair and judgement. Big Nellie’s got them in spades!

‘At the annual Scottish Parliament ceilidh ah saw aw they MSPs dancin’ the Barn Dance… sidestep, sidestep; back sidestep, sidestep; wan step back, wan step forward, then go roon an’ roon… typical!’

BIG NELLIE NELLIS

CHAPTER ONE

In the beginning was the word

… and for Big Nellie Nellis the word was ‘cockup’.

IT WAS ONa dreich night in February when she bought a fish supper on her way home from her job as senior supervisor in a clothing factory in Glasgow. The fish supper was, as usual, tasty. Tony always sold excellent fish, encased in rich, mouth-watering batter. But as Nellie devoured her meal at her Maryhill flat, she also read the contents of the old newspaper in which the delicious food was wrapped. It wasThe Guardian, not a paper she would normally take, and it was an article on the Scottish Parliament Building in Edinburgh that caught her eye:

The Fraser Report, an inquiry into the way in which the £431 million building was procured, is due to be published. Having listened to 43 days of evidence and shifted his way through some million or more words, Lord Fraser is likely to declare, although in more measured terms than this, that the greatest building project in recent Scottish history has been a cockup, and on an epic scale.

Nellie exploded.

‘Four hunner and thirty wan million pounds! It certainly is a cockup. And ah can’t even get Glasgow Council tae fix ma windae. They wid be better in a village hall, fur theyMSPs are aw eejits. Politicians jist gae me the boke. Useless! Ah could do a better job wi ma arms tied behind ma back. Disnae matter which party you vote for, aw you get are politicians. If ah wis in that Scottish Parliament, ah wid fair go ma dinger.’

Nellie tidied away the remnants of her supper, opened the windows to get rid of the smell, and gave her flat a spot of dusting, and it was at that moment in time Big Nellie Nellis decided on her new career. To save Scotland from its politicians, and to stop them wastinghersmackaroonies!

So, a determined Nellie duly went about the business of getting herself elected to the Scottish Government, eventually standing on a most interesting, if not to say ambitious, manifesto. And the voters in her constituency just loved her poster slogan and mantra: ‘Big Nellie: the very man tae sort them oot!’

Crowds flocked to her campaign meetings to hear her unique brand of rhetoric.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, chronically weak administrations in the Parliament have consigned generations tae wither away in auld schools, tae live their days trapped within the borders of huge, violent, grim housing estates with rubbish-strewn strips of dark streets, and used syringes glistening in the light from a few broken lampposts. Then us folks die years afore we should. Oor Scottish psyche leads us to expect life to be disappointing and unsatisfactory. Life should no’ be endured, but be pleasurable. We should all have fun!

‘We should spend Scotland’s money on essentials, not on funny auld constructions like that Parliament Building or ideological follies. We require a 21st century enlightenment for this country’s people. That’s why ah’m here, tae fix everythin’ fur ye!’

The press just loved it. That and Big Nellie’s election manifesto:

£500 pounds winter fuel allowance for everyone over 65.

Subsidised holidays in Scotland for all Council Tax payers.

Free transport on ferries, buses and trains for everyone over 60 who is not working.

All wheelie bins to be collected weekly.

Pot holes filled in within 24 hours.

Sir Andy Murray to be appointed Sports Minister.

The tax on whisky to be cut by ten per cent and all adults to receive a bottle of Glenmorangie at Hogmanay.

Free haggis to be supplied for Burns Night.

Scotland’s National Anthem to be changed to ‘I’m Gonna Be (Five Hundred Miles)’ by the Proclaimers.

Improve the calibre ofMSPs by insisting that all candidates should hold at least a Scottish National Qualifications Certificate in drawing.

AllMSPs must actually have worked prior to standing for Parliament.

AllMSPs must do something useful for once. They must devote one day each week to the ongoing maintenance and cleaning of the Parliament Building in order to save the annual two million pounds maintenance costs.

Voting should represent the wide breadth of ages in Scotland: sixteen-year-olds should get a vote; experience should be recognised by giving two votes from 40 years of age; wisdom, experience and age should be recognised by giving three votes to those of 60 and over.

Voting should be compulsory.

Fracking should take place under the Scottish Parliament Building to capture the vast amount of gas accumulated from the corridors of power above.

The high profile campaign which followed caused considerable consternation among her fellow candidates. Nellie’s sometimes plain-spoken, sparky and outrageous statements were derided by the media but loved by the Scottish public at large.

And come the election it proved to be an absolute skoosh for Big Nellie.

When she arrived at the Scottish Parliament Nellie found that no political party had achieved a majority in this boiler room of power. All the major parties bickered as to who should get the top job of First Minister, and finally an ostrich-like decision was made. It was decided it should go to this new, neutral,MSP, Nellie Nellis, of theAGSTLO(Ah’m Gonnae Sort This Lot Oot) party, someone below the radar, and a newcomer they all thought could be manipulated. What a mistake! They should have listened to the Holyrood chatterati and cherry-picked a safe pair of hands. Now they were left tying themselves in knots over their hasty appointment. It was political speed dating at its worst with Nellie now at the centre of the political spectrum.

* * *

The dull May day with its seamless grey clouds pressed down on Edinburgh.

The assembled press corps filed into the First Minister’s official residence of Bute House at 6 Charlotte Square, zoom lenses and hand-held woolly-grey covered mikes at the ready. They were there to listen to Scotland’s new leader, and hopefully to eat freshly cut sandwiches washed down with copious amounts of beer, wine, and perhaps some of her single malt.

They dutifully shuffled through the narrow entrance into a small lobby, and turning right, made their way, single file, up the winding staircase to the drawing room with its continental glass chandelier and full-length portrait of the 3rd Earl of Bute, the first Scottish-born British Prime Minister.

With its limited space the drawing room only just managed to accommodate the invited hacks.

Bute House, looking directly onto Charlotte Square, was at one time owned by the 4th Marquess of Bute, but in 1966 was conveyed to the National Trust for Scotland. It then became the grace-and-favour residence of the Secretary of State for Scotland who remained there until Scottish devolution in 1999. It is here that the weekly meeting of the Scottish Government’s Cabinet is held, together with ministerial receptions and press conferences.

At the scheduled time of 11.00am the First Minister appeared from her living accommodation, caught in the silvery strobe of camera flashes, every eye following her movement. A rotund, buxom woman of perpetual middle-age and formidable appearance with a big baw-face that appeared freshly scrubbed, accentuated with bright red lipstick generously applied to seemingly ever moving lips. The First Minister was high-rumped, with long legs which looked as though they could stretch into different time zones, and bosoms requiring their own postcodes, while an occasional bark betrayed her inability to give up a 20-a-day habit.

The press throng duly noted Nellie’s wardrobe of a red and black business suit, accompanied by candy pink nail varnish, a chunky charm bracelet on her right wrist, and leopard-print peep-toe shoes. The sleekness of her mahogany bob made Anna Wintour look like a prize poodle. The sweet, opulent smell of perfume, like the cosmetics counter in Fraser’s, filled the air. This was a woman who knew who she was, and liked it.

As Nellie made her way to the podium, the outside world suddenly became distant, and, as the eager flow of chatter ceased, an expectant air filled the room.

Donning her heavy, dark-rimmed glasses her gravitas upped a gear, and her seemingly x-ray eyes pierced the admiring souls of the assembled press-pack.

‘Good morning, guys,’ Nellie began, as she beamed in the warm glow of flashbulbs, enjoying the sort of high-pressure occasion that her metabolism was obviously built for. ‘Ah’ll give ye a wee spiel first then ah’ll take questions. Ah’m no’ saying ah’ll answer them,’ she laughed. Depends if ah like them.

‘This is like the changing o’ the guard. Ah’m the new drill sergeant in charge of the troops. So, first of all let me tell you this Parliament requires a fix. There’s gonnae be a stramash an’ plenty o’ argy-bargy. This is the dawn of a new political era. How dae ah know? It’s because the voters have spoken.

‘The usual suspects have put forward dull temptings full o’ sterile dross. Most have their thumbs in their bums and their minds in neutral. Let me tell you something. All the parties’ policies may appear to be different at first glance but they have wan shared characteristic: they are not based on realism but merely the whim o’ some wee self-important fella pulling the strings in the background.

‘It is clear that politics attracts more than its share o’ emotionally unintelligent philistines with their cockamamie cack-handedness. All of the parties have their own dogma, but they are like skaters oan thin ice at the Lake of Mentieth; ready to go under at any moment when the cracks in their arguments appear. What we have is a political machine operated by unappealing inadequates.

‘The voters are mostly ill-informed, normally by youse lot, and are the reason the other parties feel safe. They may have been promised the earth, butMSPs know deep doon they will never be able tae deliver whit they have spouted.