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In Orkney, where Zebra crossings are
for Otters! |
Even by the standards of political leaders, the speed
and scale of the broken promise about Scotland has been glorious. Two days
after signing a “vow” to hand over “extensive new powers”, David Cameron
announced he would indeed act swiftly to ensure Scottish
MPs had less power.
You couldn't help applaud, like if the groom at a wedding
reception began his speech by saying: “You all heard me make those vows of
lifelong partnership to my wife a few hours ago. That’s why I can declare I’ve
already given the bridesmaid one in the graveyard behind the church, a task I
was committed to seeing through and will carry out again and again until I am
fully satisfied. Now are there any questions?”
Cameron, Clegg and Miliband didn't just promise. They might
have made do with a pledge, but Clegg had already ruined the meaning of a
pledge. With his record of doing the exact opposite of what he’s pledged, by
now he’d have abolished Scotland altogether, or reclassified it as a species of
insect.
So they made a “solemn vow”, the sort made to God by monks
in the 7th century, and now that’s worthless as well so next time they’ll have
to raise it to a sacrifice. Before the election, David Cameron will kneel
before an altar and chop a goat in half, then as he smears its blood on his
face he’ll say, “I will raise the minimum tax threshold”, before talking in
tongues and fainting.
Because where a few weeks ago the party leaders were making
speeches such as, “Scotland, Scotland, Scotland, together we fought evil and
invented fish and created the sun, oh beloved Scotland we are bound by the
heavens, I would gladly have my buttocks sculpted to resemble the mountains of
Glen Coe to secure our togetherness”, this week they didn't even mention
Scotland in a debate about Scotland.
Many MPs, including Alistair Darling, didn't turn up for it,
and the debate in Parliament was all about which
votes to exclude Scottish MPs from. Gordon Brown begged the Conservatives
to think about introducing the measures they’d got him to absolutely guarantee
they were absolutely introducing, to which they replied: “Oh shut up going on
about Scotland. It’s typical of the unfairness that this Scotland debate
has only once mentioned Hemel Hempstead.”
So the main part of any new law will be to ensure
Scottish MPs can’t vote on English matters because, as some English MPs say:
“This unfair situation makes many people angry.”
You can see why it has to be dealt with, if it’s making many
people angry. There aren't enough anger management therapists around to deal
with the anxiety of so many people punching trees in rage and climbing to the
tops of gas works to yell: “Why, why, why can a law, in theory, that alters,
say, building regulations in my area be voted on by some bastard from
Stenhousemuir when my MP can’t vote on building regulations there. Aye? Why, Why,
Why?”
All of us who live in England know the heartache of begging
our MP to vote about the proposed ring road in Stranraer, just for them to
clasp our hand and tearfully tell us they have no say.
Maybe they’ll ease the concerns by making another vow, to give
Scotland even more extensive powers, and then take a bit more away. Then they
can keep doing this until Scotland is owned by a Saxon warlord, and Glasgow has
to provide 200 knights a month to fight the Normans.
William Hague has assured the SNP the timetable for the vow
is still on schedule, but it seems likely there’ll be an imaginative definition
of “extensive new powers”. Most likely is they will be:
a) Falkirk gets mentioned on the BBC weather map every Tuesday,
and;
b) water from English seas will be allowed to flow past
Scotland, if the tide’s heading that way.
And in return Scottish MPs will only be allowed to vote on
issues relating to shortbread.
Whatever you think about Scottish independence, this system
of doing the opposite of what is pledged or vowed appears to be the rule now.
Over the next few months, party leaders will film themselves with their
parents, and say “I supervow on their souls, that I will never raise VAT and
will hand them to the Devil personally if I so much as consider putting it up.”
Then a year later they'll say they have to be realistic and need to put it up
to help hard-working families, and make their mum Minister of VAT and the
Devil, Chief Secretary to the Treasury.
The Liberal Democrats combine this technique with a surly
sorry, that appears as heartfelt as when a teenager breaks a promise about
vacuuming the living room. So whenever the issue is raised of how they trebled
the tuition fees they pledged to abolish, they say: “Oh for God’s sake I said
sorry didn’t I? I’ll say it again shall I? Sorry! There. Happy Now?”
Then the party leaders puzzle as to why their support
slips away to a new bunch of parties.
Maybe one way they can reverse this is to try a more
forthright approach, and to start with they could say: “If the Scottish are so
daft as to believe our vow, maybe that proves they're not fit to run their own
country anyway, the idiots.”
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