Postcard from North Rona

After six weeks' holiday from my four weeks in the Parliament I am exhausted and need a break. After all I have spent nearly a fortnight in the Islands and that is more than one could reasonably ask of an incomer. I need to get away from journalists who too often ask me difficult questions without also giving me the answer.

In order to show my concern about these outsiders from Edinburgh affecting the Guga hunt, I decided to book myself a trip to oversee the hunt and ensure that Gaelic was spoken throughout the process.

I got Kenny to make the travel arrangements and he gave me a big wink as he handed me the tickets, saying "I've made special arrangements for you". After two flights and a mere six hours, I was pleasantly surprised to find that Rhona was a beautiful city with old buildings, narrow cobbled streets and an old Gaelic culture. As I sat in a pavement cafe, waiting for the boat from Ness to reach the main port in North Rona, known locally as Riga, I took stock of my daring and earth shaking stance against those who would undermine the Gaelic culture into which I wasn't born.

After a couple of hours, the boat hadn't arrived, so I checked into the hotel that Kenny had arranged for me. The lovely hotel was called "Madame Olenska's Chicken Ranch" and featured lots of low energy red bulbs beneath which some under-dressed and local Islanders tried to converse to me in their primitive Gaelic. Luckily, Kenny had booked me on the special guest's package which involved a visit to cellar bars on a half hourly basis, followed by a visit to a Tigh Ceilidh in which some of our new residents to the Islands entertained us. I did not know that the Poles were such good dancers and wore such skimpy costumes.

Kenny has apparently arranged some extras with my Parliamentary allowance and the post-it note said "You have to get near a woman at least once" but I was not really in the mood for a full body massage as I was deeply concerned at the absence of Gaelic broadcasting on the local TV station.

After a week the boat with the Guga hunters has still not arrived, and I telephoned Kenny for an update, and he told me to do what Mr Angus would do in these circumstances with a freebie pass to the assorted fleshpots of Orkney. I laughed and promised to keep my jacket on the entire time, not really understanding what he meant.

As the boat has not arrived, I am heading home to Edinburgh where I will write a letter about people from the mainland telling people in the Western Isles how to act.

Preserve a guga

The wild vegetarians of Edinburgh have tried to stop the Guga hunt in Ness.

Do they not realise that the mad Morrisons of Ness have hunted Guga since time immemorial, and that the interference of yet another lunatic from Edinburgh pretending to know what is best for the islands and oozing mock empathy will do nothing but alienate the community.

I have therefore pledged my support to those who want to strangle the young chicks with their bare hands, despite the attacks from the parent birds, and then resell the pickled carcasses for £40,000 as I believe this is a necessary food supply for the islands. Given that the Co-op has run out of kangaroo steaks, ravens tongues, and savoury penguin penises that form the staple of the diet in Ness.

However, to demonstrate my dynamic thrusting self, I have today written to the head gannet on North Rona asking whether he wishes me to write to the Minister, in Gaelic, on his behalf. Kenny has promised to ensure that the letter is delivered by the fishermen, as he described it "With maximum prejudice". I look forward to the reply, and Kenny reassures me that the response will be clear and "very tasty".

The happiest days of my life...

Today Ms Fiona took me took carry her bags around some schools in Lewis. Ms Fiona is a lovely lady, with a placid temperament, and the ability to melt stones at 50 paces with just one glance.

Kenny said that "Ms Fiona" sounds like the kind of lady Mr Angus has spent too much time with, and Mrs Angus hasn't found out about yet. I don't understand what he means, so he does a spanking motion to help me understand, which I don't.

Going back to the schools reminded me of my fantastic time in Ashkirk Primary School, which was actually located 10 miles away from Ashkirk, and to which I was sent as a boarder from an early age (6 months). My teacher was the fantastic Mrs Donaldina Goatstrangler (nee Morrison), who had learned her teaching skills in a lunatic asylum in Gdansk (as she regularly told me after a few bottles of Whyte and MacKay, formerly called Danzig; renamed Jif during the Indo-Polish hostilities of the 1640's; and, later conquered by the Aztecs in the 1870's and renamed Quezequazazocoatal. According to Matron [Mrs Goatstrangler] as she gave me my daily bedbath, the Aztecs bequeathed the love of the letter "z" and frequent human sacrifices to the Poles, which is why I should never speak to anyone with a "z" in their name. See my previous post on Stephen the former MSP.)

Mrs Goatstrangler was the sole teacher, nurse, matron, head teacher, administrator, secretary, bed warmer and she instilled in me my love of the Gaelic language. Miss Morrison, as she became known, used to gustily sing Eilean A'Cheo when happy, lonely, lovelorn or drunk. Although it was difficult to tell which of the four moods she was in, and I used to think that they were one and the same. It took fewer than ten beatings before I could sing it fluently, and at that time I resolved that no child would be left behind in my campaign to reintroduce Gaelic to all schools in Scotland. My phrase was later stolen by Mr Bush, who I understand reprehensibly speaks NO Gaelic.

The fear of the headmistress came back to me today when visiting each school, Ms Fiona told Mrs Munro and Mr MacLeod to sit outside the staff room whilst she went to speak to the children and the teachers and I was allowed to carry her bag into the room. I was so glad that I no longer faced the weekly punishment for misbehaviour that Miss Morrison used to inflict on my thin skull with the hereditary family peat iron, although I am none the worse for it.

Mrs Munro and Mr MacLeod have something to do with the Council, I am told, and when Ms Fiona screamed at them that they shouldn't have talked about 'cuts' when she had an important photocall to arrange, I could hear Mrs Munro's bun rattle as her head shook.

They had the temerity to ask to discuss educational issues! On a photo opportunity!! Ms Fiona put them right, and I added, "You should know better. I'm going to tell the press that your talk of cuts might be not right, and may affect my standing in the public view, so I will be writing to the Minister (Ms Fiona) to suggest that it might be better to think about considering to do something. After all, I went to a single teacher school, and look at how it made me the decisive, incisive person I am today."

Mrs Munro and Mr MacLeod cringed at my invective.

I'm glad that I have nothing to do with that Council and I want nothing to do with them taking any decisions, when I have to sort out their mistakes.

Referenda

That's the correct name for more than one, and not 'referendums' as some boring pedants would have it.

My former, former, former, employer Mike Russell has told me that he will not permit a referendum on the windfarms as it will set a precedent elsewhere. I have tried to persuade him he is wrong, using my now trusty phrase to "battle hard" for election promises to be adhered to, but he is not listening to me yet.

I know that democracy is vitally important, and that the democratically expressed will of the people is the most single important thing, and one we must defend to the hilt. That is why the democratically expressed will of the Scottish people to elect representatives for the magnificent four year plan for the Great Peoples March to Independence is so important.

This was no better demonstrated that the brilliant decision by Steven Tymkewycz Stephen Timkezwzyzcz Stevaan Tzizyzmzkzezwzyzcz Ztzezfzazn Tymkewycz the East European MSP to stand down after I demanded he speak to me in Gaelic. As he said himself in his incisive resignation email, "I'd rather sit on Edinburgh Council, look after my 15 flats, and do something useful, than be a useless piece of lobotomised lobby fodder."

To ensure the triumph of democracy, I have decided to once again ignore Comhairle nan Eilean Siar and all the planning decisions that they have taken and might take, and instead I will instigate a grass roots campaign to hold referenda across all the Community Council areas in Lewis. I'm going to write to them all, when they are formed after the elections, assuming they are actually formed, and get them considering whether to come on-board with my brilliant campaign.

Kenny is typing my first letter to them, asking them for suggestions for the questions and opinions they might want me to hold were there to be a demand from me to hold a referendum on the planning applications, given that the Executive won't hold to my promises. I have made it clear to them that they can hold a referendum at their own cost, instead of undertaking vital community developments, but that until I agree the questions will produce the answer I want, or even if there are to be questions, I will not allow them to squander their time and money on this matter.

This will show the Labour Party what leadership really is, and that I do know how to spend other people's money just as well as they do, and I know they will be cringing in their houses tonight when they hear of my brilliant new idea.

The letter needs some editing, as Kenny's drafts always do, and I am sure that I will find a better heading than "Dumb and dumber".

What I did on my holidays

Donnie MacInnes at the Stornoway Gazette suggested to me to write an article about my holidays in the Western Isles for the benefit of the readers, so that they could find out who I was.

His wife, Cathy, kindly passed on the message at the Branch meeting, over which she presides as Chairperson, and advised me to make it as controversial as I possibly could as Donnie would ensure that it was printed unedited. I am only to eager to oblige the Gazette, which is showing its true independence and balanced stance by inviting all the constituency MSPs for the Western Isles to contribute on an equal footing. I bet none of the others have had as exciting a holiday as I did!

It was very nice to see some islands that I have never seen before, having had to travel in the boot of Mr Angus' car on previous occasions and only being able to see the clouds in the sky. This time I travelled first class at the public expense and stayed in some Bed & Breakfast establishments and even caught the ferry by myself.

It was very exciting to be recognised by one person in Uist, and even more exciting to find out that he was an SNP Councillor. I rushed back to the Bed & Breakfast for a refreshing cup of tea and phoned Kenny to change my travel arrangements in the hope that another person would recognise me here.

In order to introduce myself to the public, I decided to wait at the ferry terminals and bus stops and approach anyone standing around, addressing them in Gaelic. In answer to the usual response of "What the f...", I was in a position to recite the entire SNP manifesto, verbatim, which they seemed to enjoy. They certainly were unable to move much after the first five minutes.

I listed, in gripping detail, the pledges for transport, the Gaelic language, speeding, sheep movements, drinking whilst in charge of a peat iron, economic policy and espeically the inter-relationship between the ECB, Westminster and an independent Scotland (although I did get a bit confused here with most of the terminology), Gaelic Broadcasting, Gaelic signposts, defence policy, the proposed compulsory bilingual services for the broadcasting of Big Brother live on E4, how the SNP would demand the repatriation of the English mink, Gaelic salmon farming and why Mr Alex was to be the next first King of Scotland.

Tired after that, I retired to the Bed & Breakfast, from which the owners seem to have gone on holiday until after I leave, and lay down in my full-body Noddy suit to sleep before the stress of the next day.

Mr Angus says he can now employ someone on my behalf in Edinburgh, and having carefully considered the short leet he gave to me, I have selected the single name he suggested. I am sure they are very good, and will do exactly as he tells them. It's good to see job creation in Edinburgh, as there are so many unemployable people that I mix with everyday in the Parliament.

Ferry fares

Mr John came to Stornoway today, which was very exciting for me and Mr Angus, as it proves to the doubters that we do actually visit Stornoway occasionally. After under an hour, we managed to find the SNP Office, with only some help from the map I keep in my pocket.

Kenny had issued the press release to everybody except the Labour Chair of Transport, Mr Manfield, who is dangerous as he thinks for himself. Mr Alex keeps promising Mr Angus that he will ensure that Mr Manfield has an implant, soon, but I fear Mr Manfield is beyond help.

Mr John had a stunning announcement (which I know to spell, it was Kenny that got it wrong, as usual) that he would be asking for a survey for someone to look at whether cutting ferry fares would be a good idea. If it proves not too expensive then Mr John might think about considering whether to do anything about the survey, and promises that he will then call for a report into the survey.

There! That will show the Labour Party that we are dynamic and forward thinking, and their claims of delay and prevarication are nothing short of scandalous.

Mr Angus said I read his press release very well, and it was very nice of me to praise him so highly. I asked Kenny for details of the campaign for lower fares Mr Angus has been in the forefront of for the past two years. He advised me that the details were so confidential that they were never released to anyone, and that if he told me he would have to kill me.

"When would I like the papers?", he asked, sharpening the office paper knife to allow him to cut the ream of paper in half with one nonchalant movement of his wrist.

Mr John wanted to go and see the devil tower manufacturing facility at Arnish. I placed myself into a trance to avoid contamination by the nacelles, and thankfully no-one noticed the difference.

To celebrate the success of today, I have adjourned for a celebratory drink. A large cocoa and my knitted dressing gown make this evening special.