Mrs Connolly, the housekeeper, was chopping some root vegetables
for a hearty broth.
This’ll stick tae yer ribs, she promised.
I was thinking a salad might have been more appropriate in this
clement weather, suggested Diana.
Never cast a cloot till May is oot. There could be snow yet, Mrs
Syylk. Aye, we could have a blizzard before the elections.
And how will you vote? Mrs C, asked Diana. Who impressed
you in the televised debate?
Well, the wee lassie certainly wiped the flair wi’ the lot o’
them, she opined. But jist because she could handle
hersel’ in the verbal, it disnae follow that she’s no’ speakin’
a load o’ sh…Sugar!
Mrs Connolly! Please. I get your drift and I must say that
I do agree with you regarding the policies she endorses. As
Pardon me, Mrs S, but Ah canna abide that Lavage mannie.
Farage, corrected Diana. Lavage is a type of gastric
Mair like gastric irritation, Mrs C riposted. Ah huv tae take
an Omeprazole efter hearing ony o’ his drivel. Och, don’t
get me started!
Diana didn’t think she had.
Tell me aboot yer night oot wi’ Mr Syylk. She attempted to
change the subject. All this havering jist gets me doon.
We went to see a production of Macbeth at the local school.
You should call it The Scottish Play, warned Mrs C. She
stirred the broth as if she was First Witch: All hail McSturgeon
that shall be queen hereafter! she cackled, revealing her very
sound Scottish Senior Secondary education from The Sixties.
Diana laughed: Salmond still lives. Why does she dress in
borrowed robes? Treason’s capital…[will] overthrow him.
Is execution done on Miliband?
Nothing in his party would become him like the leaving of it,
quipped Mrs C.
But seriously, everyone was saying ‘What bloody woman is
that? after the debate continued Diana. She unseamed them-
all the knaves, all the chaps; and made as if to fix their heads
upon her battlements, screeching: ‘Ay, in the catalogue ye go
Aye, and the ither females were jist her chamberlains. All were
too weak when faced wi’ the Braveheart lass. She dares do all that
may become a man and some of they wumman politicians look as if
they are halfway there.. Aah, I feel faint at the thought. Don’t get
me a sturgeon, though. After a dramatic pause, she probed: Whit
aboot that big jessie, Cameron?
He’s too busy echoing the lines: We will establish our estate upon
Boris, Theresa or George, I fear.
So, she’s tae get away wi’ pouring her sweet milk of apparent
concord into hell and causing uproar to the universal peace,
confounding all unity on earth and…
…instigating yet another bloody referendum! shrieked Diana.
Oh, Scotland, Scotland. Fit to govern? Even Alex has banished
himself. Mind you, we have scotch’d that snake, but no’ killed it.
O, my breast… (here she pounded her poitrine with the wooden
spoon) …Thy hope ends here.
Diana was becoming over-enthusiastic. She stood up on her
kitchen chair. Yes, and then Miliband says, It looks like rain
But it always looks like rain here, Mrs S.
Suspend your disbelief as Nicola has instructed you, prompted
Diana. Let’s fast-forward to the banquet scene.
Scone? Mrs C wrinked her brow.
No, I’m not hungry, Diana said. Oh, I see what you mean-
No, she’s already crowned herself.
Ah hope there’ll no be ony ghosts, Mrs C wavered.
We’ve had the spectre of Blair already, but everyone pretended
he was invisible, Diana assured her. Now, like Mrs Thatcher…
God rest her soul! Mrs C bowed her head.
…The First Minister is already adopting the Royal ‘we’.
Ourself will mingle with society? queried Mrs C.
Precisely. Then she says to herself:’Be bloody, bold and
resolute and laugh to scorn/ The power of men.
We’re into Act 4 now, nodded Mrs C., keeping her eye on the
Diana, still standing on the chair, surveyed the landscape from
her kitchen window: Scotland has not foisons enough to fill her
Nor oil reserves, added Mrs C.
Diana nearly fell off the chair as there was a sudden sound of
applause. It was Murgatroyd, who had returned early from an
Oh, but how will we end it? Diana was disappointed to be
Can I have the epilogue? asked her husband. You know, the last
word that I rarely have the pleasure to express.
Go ahead, replied Diana and Mrs C sat down and mopped her brow
with the tea towel.
Murgatroyd took a deep breath and intoned:
This murderous shaft that’s shot
Hath not yet lighted, and our safest way
Is to avoid the aim.
Ah take it that ye’ll no’ be votin’ SNP then , Mr Syylk? observed
You have hit the nail upon the head as usual Mrs C. Now,
is there a bowl of broth for a hungry man?
And Mrs C reverted to her housekeeping duties and forsook
her thespian tendencies- for the moment.
Nae bother, sir.