LAST summer a nation was in movement, on the march from door to door, to public meetings, to church halls and city streets. The air was full of the prospect of change, of dreams that shimmered with the solidity of truth. After decades of torpor, Scotland had learned how to hope again and a nation rediscovered the real meaning of politics.

Politics is that which is proper to the polity, the body of the citizenry. It’s about us. Politics belongs to us, all of us first. Scotland had discovered that politics is personal, and if we want to change anything we need to change it ourselves. 2014 was Scotland’s summer of hope.

Then in September an energised nation saw its hopes for a new direction get dashed on the rocks of Westminster, aided by the sirens of the media. The tide of change ebbed out, drained by fear and false promises, leaving behind the barren shifting sands of spin doctors and press calls. The Labour party danced and clapped in celebration of the return of business as usual, of a politics that’s professionalised and kept apart from the punters, while Davie Cameron told us that the real message was about England.

And then all the Unionist parties colluded together to hollow out the promises they had made in panic during the last days of the referendum campaign. Scotland was to be returned to its box. The bosses and the big boys would once again tell us what was good for us, and we would listen in silence like obedient children, grateful for the crumbs that brought no comfort.

Some of us, we had a wee greet. Some of us had a few swallies. We had a few days of despondency. And then we picked ourselves up again, and said — this gemme’s a bogie. It’s time for a new game, a game where we the people write the rules. Scotland was on the march once more.

A country had come out of the shortbread tin and there would be no going back. We’d outgrown it. We would take the Unionists at their word. Was Scotland not valued and loved? Was our voice not essential to make this Great Britain greatly British?

We would demand change within the sclerotic Union, we’d pump the lifeblood through the varicose veins of Westminster.

Despite the best efforts of the ancien regime, the political landscape shifted quicker than Jim Murphy could announce fundilymundily new policies before an adoring press.

The agenda would no longer be determined by spin doctors in back rooms. In an age when the audience is as media savvy as the manipulators, the era of the McTernans is over. We can see through the hype. Scotland mocked and laughed while

Jim blustered and burned.

When Labour holds its press conferences and media events, the people’s party doesn’t invite the people. The people can see they’ve been excluded and the people’s party is no more. When we hear the politicians cry that the people are no longer listening, we remember that it’s the politicians who should be listening to the people.

And if they’d been listening in the first place they wouldn’t be complaining now.

The people created the Labour party to act as a force for justice and social change and it morphed into a Murph. So the people said to themselves, we did this before and we can do it again. So the people marched to another party. But no one expected the tide to return so soon and so high. Jim Murphy is being taught to beware the tides that march. They’re going to wash his party away.

The notion that Scotland finds a voice has really terrified the British establishment. The only thing worse is the idea that Scotland could hold the balance of power, and determine who gets to form the next government of the UK.

For the long dark decades of Tory rule, Scotland was told that getting a government we didn’t vote for was simply the price of the Union. Now the tartan high heels are on the other foot, England might get the government that Scotland votes for. Ed, Davie, Nick and Nige scream that Scotland’s choices are illegitimate and unwelcome.

But to no avail, no one in Scotland is listening to the four hoarse men of the Jockalypse.

How dare a nation which wasn’t that interested in the Royal baby have influence in running the UK. The rivers will run with Irn Bru and cucumber sandwiches will be abolished, replaced by bridies. Taxi drivers in Sussex will be forced to accept Scottish banknotes. Wee yappie Scottie dugs will run wild in the streets of Winchester. But worst of all, a party which in the cosmic scheme of things isn’t especially left-wing will drag Labour from its ever rightward triangulation dance with the Tories and end the politics of austerity that benefit only a rich minority.

It’s unthinkable. It’s appalling. The security services have set the threat to DefCon tartan, the Mad Macs are about to take over Westminster’s blunderdome and make Daily Mail columnists cry. And it’s true, we’re only doing it so we can see the greetin face on that wee nyaff on Press Preview on Sky News.

Scotland has been deluged by rejection, racism, hatred and blind unreason coming from the uncomprehending commentators and politicians from south of the Border who cannot fathom why this is happening. You’d have thought the answer was obvious. It’s happening because those self-same commentators and politicians spent last year intimidating and scaring Scotland into submission. Now Scotland is repaying the compliment. They’re very scared indeed. When the media and politicians demonise you, it means you’ve got them scared. And that means that you are the powerful one in this equation. Scotland is showing its power.

Today Scotland holds the future of the UK in its hands. Not just the future of certain politicians’ careers, satisfying as it will be to put an end to some of them. Your ballot paper is the key to a future you determine. Your pencil is a weapon that can strike through the hearts of those who’ve let Scotland down. Wield it well. Vote for hope. Vote for change. Vote for a positive future. Vote for a strong Scottish voice. Jockalypse now.