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.

Saturday, February 23, 2008


The AGM was a great success, mainly due to the fact that we didn’t let anyone know it was taking place. The Committee were reappointed after being proposed en-bloc by Mr Angus, who was an honorary member for the evening, and after I issued the already completed voting papers to those attending the AGM (the Committee) it was nice to see total unanimity in the support for the fantastic job that the Committee do in doing as Mr Angus and I tell them.

The absence of those who might want to debate matters meant that there was more time for my brief two-hour speech declaiming the skills, abilities, intelligence, wit and wisdom of Mr Angus (but Rhona re-read what she had written for me, I decided to take out the section on being a family man, as she told me to) and his brief two minute speech on my abilities, which seemed to focus on my quiff.

Since being struck by lightning last week, and surviving, I realise that there is a greater plan for me, and that divine intervention means that there is a REAL purpose in my life, rather than the meaningless, pathetic, clueless, subservient, inadequate and pointless course that I have followed over the past twenty years. When I work out what it is, I will follow it, but until then I will do exactly as He recommends; and the first blessed sign came direct from Him when Mr Alex sent me an email telling me that He would be acquitted by the Local Government Committee when we come to consider the ill-founded Trump Inquiry and the Aviemore Inquiry, and the other ones that aren’t public yet.

It was a mistake to let Kenny do the catering though.

The sandwiches were filled with Ness Duck, which Kenny described as being “Like Bombay Duck, only from Ness.” Further inquiry elicited the fact that this was in fact lamb, left to air dry for two years in a sheiling before being salted for six months in a Tenants Lager keg. Kenny claims this sells exceptionally well at the Tapas nights in the Ness Social Club.

The main dish was Buffalo Wings, which Kenny later admitted was actually skate wings which had been left to ferment for eighteen hours in a bucket of fat extracted from a beached whale (or seal) before being deep fried in a batter of Super Lager, Skigersta milled marram-flour and all bound together with an egg of a Golden Eagle.

The evening came to an early end when the management stopped Kenny from building the fire over which he was planning to roast a stag that he had found dead of suicide apparently.

As we left, Rhona tapped me on the shoulder and said, “I know who the mole is!” before grinning in a threatening manner. My blood stood still. Did she mean me? What had I done?

Messages from above: 3
Councillors ignored: 4
Political discussions at the AGM: Nil

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.