Vote SNP - we know where you live

Alasdair Allan

This is a private journal about all the exciting things that have happened to me since I stood as MSP for Gordon the Western Isles. I am dedicated to the people of Gordon the Western Isles, and there is nowhere else I would rather represent. I even intend to live there soon.

I am not to be mistaken for for that imposter who pretends to be an MSP.

I really like this dynamic and exciting blog layout, which suits me perfectly.

Thursday, August 30, 2007

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.

I've read my wise words this many times

* No, not really. If you haven't worked out that this is a satirical exercise, then please get a life. And find one for Alasdair.