The local media

I am almost apoplectic this week with anger at the Stornoway Gazette, Isles FM and the West Highland Free Press for reporting such glaring lies about what I am supposed to have done or said.

The WHFP, which as everyone knows is the mouthpiece of Brian Wilson who you think would know better after Mr Alex won the election despite the WHFP offering no support to any SNP candidates in any way. I know that Brian Wilson left the House of Commons after becoming bored with sitting on the backbenches and being unable to influence Government policy. How pathetic is that. I will be happy to stay on the backbenches for the rest of my life and do exactly what I am told without any expectation of influencing Government policy, which is precisely the difference between Brian Wilson and I!

Last week they printed a mischievously, wrong and totally false story about my attempts to get Voldemort ("He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named") expelled from the SNP using as evidence nothing more than some of the emails I sent to SNP HQ based on stories told to Cathy MacInnes by her husband who just happens to be the Chief Reporter in the Stornoway Gazette. That my claims were without substance is neither here nor there, as the emails clearly demonstrate that the facts were not the issue. How dare they use these emails which were private, confidential and embarassing and without giving me the chance to make any comment about the matter to set the record straight. That I refuse to answer questions on the matter is not the point.

I was so angry about that horrible behaviour by the WHFP to use facts to prove a case, that when I was told by Bunter that Voldemort had been on Isles FM, and may have talked about some things that were less than complementary about my role in his expulsion. Bunter told me that he thought Voldemort had said other things that attacked the SNP but he couldn't remember them but that I should say something about it. I was so furious that I had to get Alan to phone and plead with the directors to allow me to get the chance to put my case. How dare they not tell me how their guests are going to be so that I can decide if they need to prevent them coming on air before we know what they are going to say.

The threats worked. Alan was in tears after nearly five minutes of trying to talk to the directors, so I went for the nuclear option (at this point I would like to make clear that I am anti-nuclear, and totally in favour of renewable energy, as long as it is in someone else's constituency, so I'm not going to say that I went for the wind turbine option, am I?) and told the directors of Isles FM that the sponsor of the most popular programme on their radio station was threatening to withdraw. Yes, Calum Murdo had told me that after the failure to allow me the chance to respond he was thinking about cancelling his long standing support for "Sheep disease of the day" which is broadcast at 5am in the prime slot for crofters, insomniacs and those trying to catch the ferry. That told them!

But before I could sort it all out the Stornoway Gazette had the nerve to deny my claim to SNP HQ that they had leaked information to me about the voting intentions of Voldemort. How dare they! Everyone knows that Donnie MacInnes was passing all the political stories to me, and now this junior reporter who wrote the story is denying that he told me anything. Has he no sense. He's just getting his boss deeper and deeper in trouble, as I didn't lie in the email I sent to HQ telling third hand stories that had no basis in fact. If only anyone knew where Mr Angus was, we could get him to tell us what to say, but there has been no sign of him for many weeks.

With the WHFP and the Gazette both attacking me, poor Alan is constantly sobbing, and I had had to send him home before the office is flooded or before Kenny hits him, again.

Everything went well on Isles FM until Mr X asked me for the details of how RET would work, and I had to stall him which I did magnificently by feigning complete ignorance of the detail of any such scheme or how it would work or how much it would cost or where it would operate, were it to ever be borught in which it might be soon. Not one bit of detail did he manage to get from me, except that the 30 mile crossing over the Minch would probably at some time possibly get RET, but not necessarily at a level equal to the tariff on an equivalent road.

Mr X then had the cheek to point out that the ferry crossing was actually 48 miles, as if he was trying to prove how little I knew about the subject. Alan cried all the way home, as I kept my temper under control by driving at no more than 15 miles per hour, even on the straight bits of road.

Bad journalists: 3
Good journalists: 0
Gaelic swearwords learnt: 1 (but not used!)