I love Scotland, architecturally, musically, even the actual humans who live there.
That 1980s “Scotland’s For Me” tourism campaign was clearly very potent, even though the film Restless Natives suggested coach travel could contain jeopardy.
I don’t know very much about what independence would mean except in the abstract.
This is not about Yes or No as I haven’t done the reading. (I thought I better start the day by writing something and today’s exercise was writing this).
I have gut instincts at war on this, probably a side effect of irritable bowel syndrome.
I have loved Scotland since somewhere between Gregory’s Girl and The Wicker Man, two films that I think should be remade as one. I can see that long sequence where Gregory is led from phone box to chip shop to park, it eventually leads to Clare Grogan placing John Gordon Sinclair into a Wicker Edwyn Collins so that the crop of LPs from that year’s Postcard records roster is good and strongly reviewed in the Melody Maker.
I have had many Scottish holidays, toured there repeatedly, and obviously spent many Summer months there (I particularly liked The Gatehouse of Fleet when I was 12, I must return one day). So, I think, why can’t we all stick together, we get on okay don’t we? I’ve had some lovely conversations with taxi drivers, one very intense one about the work of Robert Mapplethorpe, while another asked if I could help write his best man speech.
But then, I love Norway, and I don’t feel any less of it because there is not an MP for Trondheim at Westminster. Does their independence from England make their pickled herring and murder ballads less palatable?
So, my other twisted gut rumbles a message of, “if the population of a country wants independence then why shouldn’t they, they have the right to balls up their economy even more than a central government across a border has a right to balls up their lives.”
Let each nation have the right to fuck themselves up, or maybe make things better, or maybe sell off their land to some loon-haired, money enthusiast American golfer and Babel tower builder.
Watching the confusion and propaganda on most contemporary issues I wonder if we should follow the rules of Dunbar’s number and not just divide the people at the borders, but that we must all vote ourselves into midget nations of 150 people each, after that number, things seem to get confused. The problem maybe that, like picking football teams on the school playing fields, a selection of the wheezy and odd will find themselves left on the touchline, chosen only with umbrage and disdain (oh how sporting ineptitude of youth still smarts).
Then, there is the Pale Blue Dot idealist me, led by an altogether different, sentient and utopian bowel, that sees national boundaries as another division to stir up greedy fervour and hate based on a different hat or bauble. that foolish gut, in white piano Lennon mode, sees each new split as another hand up for manipulation and jingoism, but that has little to do with this upcoming vote, and more to a downtrodden optimism that humans could co-exist without recourse to tribalism and a fetishism for insularity and hate marked by a l boundary. But Utopian me is hankered by the knowledge that it’ll take an impending invasion from pugilistic extraterrestrials to create unity, and those lazy lifeforms just don’t seem to have the wherewithal to help out here, wherever they may be.
I am up at Wigtown soon, also off to Croydon, Dublin, Cardiff, Oslo, Sheffield, Cambridge and a town near you soon (US and Australian dates in Spring 2015) Details HERE
The Cosmic Genome science app is now one year old, here are the 114 or so scientists and enthusiasts on it in rapid edit form HERE