I FIRST began to harbour doubts about Nicola Sturgeon’s suitability for high office in a helicopter ride I shared with her during the 2015 General Election. There were four of us, including a photographer, on this hop between St Andrews and Dundee and I was pleased that the First Minister had granted me a short audience. My gas was only slightly set at a peep later when I discovered that some of my more highly regarded newspaper chums had been favoured with the First Minister’s company on much longer trips. No matter; by the time I’d finished embellishing the tale in my local tavern that weekend me and Nicola had ended up bosom buddies and she’d even taken on board some of my observations on how to deal with the annual GERS conundrum.
The First Minister, as I recall, was wearing one of her smart Karen Millen numbers which, when a lady is seated in a cramped space has the tendency to creep up a few inches. I hadn’t noticed of course but our snapper for the day signalled discreetly to her and she thus demurely re-arranged herself before looking at me pointedly and saying: “The photographer is concerned for my modesty, Mr McKenna.” As my old granny used to say at awkward moments, “I didnae know where to put masel”.
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Not only that, she also insisted on posing for a selfie with me which duly went out on yon social media, a medium with which at that point I was only uncertainly acquainted. How reckless, I thought. Here she is; the most powerful person in Scotland, getting pictures taken willy-nilly with random journalists of questionable vintage and posting them on that Twitter. And although I’d hammered a few capfuls of Listerine Extra Care, I’m sure the last lingering remnants of the previous night’s press bacchanal must still have hung heavy in such a confined space. There were red flags all over the shop but still our incautious leader pressed on with the picture. You can’t be serious about being First Minister of Scotland if you think that it’s all fine and dandy to be photographed with bedraggled hacks while attending to disobliging items of your apparel.
Later in the day, as she went walkabout among her supporters in St Andrews town centre, I swear she had her picture taken with more dubious characters. One untidy looking chap seemed to be sporting some controversial ironmongery about Ireland on his moth-eaten lapels while a young mother could be seen skelping one of her wretchedly behaved children across the legs. What sort of message does that carry? Surely her advisers ought to have intervened and ushered her away from such distressing scenes?
Not long after this regrettable episode I witnessed our First Minister wading into another crowd – this time in a much less genteel West of Scotland location. One of the chaps who took a selfie with her had a tell-tale bulge in his inside coat pocket. Citizens from this part of the world would have known immediately that this bore the unmistakable outline and vivid green livery of a bottle of Buckfast, the old Coatbridge commotion lotion itself. What on Earth was Sturgeon thinking of? Could some of her Matalan army of aides not have warned her to be wary of such characters lurking on the edges of these sorts of gatherings? They surely ought to have known that this wretched wreck-the-hoose juice is the scourge of communities such as these, yet here was Sturgeon inadvertently endorsing this irresponsible elixir.
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I’m pleased to say, however, that our First Minister seems to have learned quickly on the job and has since largely eschewed such careless conduct. Of course, none of us would want her to desist from plunging into crowds and showing the common touch. I mean, do we really want her to be carried around in a papal sedia gestatoria when she seeks to get amongst the punters? I just think she needed to exhibit finer judgement in her selfie arrangements and I think she’s done just that.
In recent years she has posed for pictures with individuals of a much less random character. They are the sorts of people you would expect our leader to associate with and have included bankers, industrialists, arch-Brexiteers, assorted members of the royal family and Theresa May. These are much more in keeping with the dignity of her office.
Now don’t get me wrong here. I’m not for one minute suggesting that she confine herself to selfies with kings, queens and potentates. In fact, when the Scottish Government rolled out its baby boxes to almost universal acclaim she was pictured with more infants than Sister Julienne in Call The Midwife. Indeed, if I was one of her advisers I’d be trying to set up a picture opportunity of the First Minister handing over a special baby box to Ruth Davidson and her partner Jen Wilson and their lovely new baby boy, Finn. It would show that we aren’t a nasty and divided wee nation at all and that matters pertaining to our great constitutional struggle crumble away in the face of the gift of new life.
EVEN then, there would still be some curmudgeons going absolutely bananas and howling at the moon. How could the First Minister of a government committed to equality, diversity and diverse equality possibly allow herself to be pictured with a warmonger who practises lethal exercises in the Campsies with the Territorial Army? In fact, the more I think of it, perhaps our social services should be keeping an eye on Ms Davidson and Ms Wilson to ensure that wee Finn isn’t getting dressed up in military fatigues from somewhere like Baby Zap.
It seems that our First Minister just can’t win when she tries to extend her hand across the political divide in pursuit of a higher purpose. That picture last weekend of her with Alastair Campbell, who once advised the latest in a long line of UK Prime Ministers (backed by the odd SNP leader) who took our country into wars of debatable moral endeavour seems to have caused an outbreak of sanctimony in some nationalist circles.
They need to chill and perhaps embark on a short walk for a long drink. Some of my colleagues would say that, after posing for a picture with the likes of me and the man from the Daily Record, things could only get better. Happily, she seems to have recovered from those early misjudgements and pictures with old warmongers should merely be dismissed as other things you must do for the love of your country.
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