MONDAY
THE besieged board of CalMac have been summoned to a top-secret meeting and I’ve been asked to take notes. It’s the first time I’ve witnessed Nicola Sturgeon in action. Is that a green Lucretia Borgia number she’s wearing? How very fetching. And I could swear she was wearing the new Donati fragrance from L’Oreal.
“So, your ferries keep breaking down because lots of your boats are very old. What are you going to do about it?”
“Well, we’re working round the clock to restore full service.”
“How would you even know what full service looks like? You haven’t had full service since Ballachulish last won the Camanachd Cup.”
“I don’t think that’s a very helpful comment, First Minister. We’re about to roll out a suite of emergency measures to get everyone where they need to be through the winter months.”
“Oh really? Hit me with them.”
“1. We have a new marketing slogan: Stay Right Where You Are. This extols the virtues of staying put and not traveling anywhere. Implies stability and steadfastness.
“2. Grow your own vegetables and rear some farm animals. That way people will be less reliant on the ferries for their food supplies. And it’s a good message ahead of COP26.
“3. For short island hops we’re funding free extreme swimming lessons for all adults to encourage people to swim between islands if they absolutely must.
“4. We’re in discussions with the MoD about making space aboard their nuclear submarines for any essential trips to the British mainland.”
The FM is not impressed. “You lot shouldn’t be out without your mammies,” she says witheringly. “Youze have two months to sort this out. If you haven’t done so by then I’m nationalising the lot of you.”
I like this woman.
TUESDAY
I’VE been summoned to meet Peter Murrell. Whatever can he want?
He insists on meeting at midnight in the party headquarters across from Holyrood. I’m taken to a small, windowless and candle-lit vestibule by an unusually pale-faced aide.
As I’m waiting the candles begin to flicker and suddenly there’s a chap with a rather long black coat turned oddly up at the collar. For the life of me I can’t remember the door opening or shutting.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” I exclaim. And I swear that a barely discernible hissing sound comes from Murrell and there’s a faint smell of burning.
“Ah, Rupert; May I call you Rupert? How are you settling in to your new role? I’m hearing very good things about your work at the department.
“I have a leetle job for you (such an unusual accent). It won’t compromise your civil service status. Patrick Harvie is beginning to make a nuisance of himself by taking that new role we gave him unsportingly seriously.
“We’ve had him under surveillance for some time. You’ll receive some photographs at the end of the week showing him in a series of compromising situations with the Slater woman. When you receive them you are to await further instructions.”
Bloody hell! I thought Westminster was pretty brutal but this lot are playing for keeps.
WEDNESDAY
I’M off to dinner at Bettega’s; the new artisan pizzeria at the top of Fleshmarket close. It’s got a fancy new Scirea & Gentile pizza oven. I’m meeting some lobbyists from Charlotte Street Partners. They’re an oily and oleaginous crew and insist on greeting me with rather elaborate handshakes.
Their leader, a deceptively amiable chap called Wilson, talks endlessly about his blueprint for a new politics. “Roops, my man. I want to press the re-start button on how we engage with each other. I think we could effect great change at Holyrood if everyone just gave a massive hug each morning to a member of a different party.
“Then, one afternoon each week, everyone breaks into groups in specially-designed empathy pods. They can share their innermost feelings and seek
healing with the help of special crystals which Charlotte Street Partners have designed.
“Naturally, we will oversee the entire process and charge you only the cost price plus our usual consultation fee. It’s great value at £25k a month which we can add to our rolling account.”
THURSDAY
THE pictures of Patrick Harvie and Lorna Slater arrive and they’re just about as explicit as it’s possible to imagine. There’s footage of them both at what looks like a shady gathering with several others. They’re all rather raucously belting out rock classics like “I’m in Love With my Car” by Queen and “Highway Star” by Deep Purple.
Shockingly, they’re all dressed in motorcycle leathers and a fleet of Harley Davidsons is parked outside. A giant video screen plays Jeremy Clarkson Top Gear repeats on a loop. By Jove! It’s one of those underground Petrol Orgies which have become popular in environmental circles but have never previously been seen.
Until now.
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