Pants to Boris
I didn't have a vote in London's Mayoral election, but if I did I would definitely have voted for Boris Johnson over Ken Livingstone.
Boris Johnson doesn't have a vote in next year's referendum on Scottish independence, but if he did it seems Bojo would be in the No camp - believing as he does that UK PLC is boggier than the sum of its parts, if this recent piece from the Telegraph is anything to go by.
I have some sympathy with that point of view - having lived and worked in London for years in the 1980s.
But I think what Boris underestimates is the level of antipathy that exists towards the Westminster Parliament - which is seen as remote and self-serving especially after the MPs' expenses scandal or as completely useless and redundant in the case of the House of Lords.
Why do we need all these MPs and why do we need even more parliamentarians in the House of Lords - when Scotland gets by quite nicely, thank you, without a second revising chamber?
So Boris while is right to point out that there are lots of practical issues to address if Scotland does vote Yes, none of these are insurmountable - nor would they prevent the Scots from continuing to enjoy good relations with our neighbours in England, Wales and Ireland.
A divorce from Scotland would be stupid, wretched and painful
Like a bickering couple, our countries need a counsellor to step in and make us see sense
Scotland is to hold a referendum on independence from the UK Photo: PA
By Boris Johnson
I have a faded sticker on the back of my car that reads: I (heart) Scotland. I have a feeling it was stuck there by some fellows from Strathclyde police when they came down to help with the Notting Hill carnival, and I keep it there because it reflects my general feelings. I (heart) Scotland in the way that so many of us Sassenachs do: you know, fabulous place, lovely people, gorgeous purple moors, great white beaches and an incomparable contribution to Western thought and civilisation, from Adam Smith to Andrew Neil.
I (heart) Scotland so much that I once made a doomed attempt to become rector of a Scottish university, in which I destroyed a massive poll lead by announcing that I was not only English but in favour of top-up fees, and ended up coming third and having beer poured over my head. But still I (heart) Scotland. I (heart) the bagpipes and the porridge and the view from Arthur’s Seat and swimming with seals and the funny prehistoric cows with ginger fringes and the see-you-Jimmy tam-o’-shanter that I keep as a memento of one holiday; and so I find it positively (heart) breaking to find that serious people are now worried that the union between England and Scotland – a gigantic political fact for 306 years – is under threat.
Never mind the sentiment, the fuzzy warm feelings I have about the place. Whatever happens, tourism will continue, after all. We are on the verge of losing something even more precious – to both Scotland and England – and I don’t think people have woken up to the full lunacy of what is afoot. In its desultory complacency, the conversation reminds me of some middle-aged couple deciding to get divorced. All they can think about is the liberation – the new beginnings, the excitement. So more and more English people are thinking, what the hell: if the Scots want to walk out, why don’t we just let them?
We won’t have to subsidise them any more via the Barnett formula, people think; and there are plenty of Tories who secretly agree with John Major, and reckon that getting rid of all those Scottish Labour MPs would be a fine thing for England and the Conservative Party. As for the Scots — well, I can see the attraction: your own nation, your own government, and the chance to join the ranks of those small and dynamic countries that seem to be happiest and most prosperous.
What both sides are forgetting – and they have this in common with divorcing couples – is that it may look OK on day one, but on day two the lawyers come in. There is the division of property to work out, the rights of access to be determined. The longer the marriage has lasted, the more there is to unpick, and the more hellish and self-flayingly painful the whole process becomes.
After three centuries of union, England and Scotland are not just woven together by sentiment, but by a cat’s cradle of intricate legal and political ties. Fibre by fibre that would have to be sliced apart, and the result will be agony and endless recrimination.
On Tuesday, the Scottish government will publish a vast White Paper explaining how on earth it is supposed to work. So here are some of the questions I hope that document will be able to settle. We are told that the proposal is that Scotland would keep the Queen as head of state and the pound as the national currency – though presumably both of these commitments could be varied by a future Scottish parliament.
But on what basis does Scotland get to keep the pound? Will they use sterling informally, just as some Latin American countries rely on the dollar? And why should the Bank of England take any notice of Scotland in setting monetary policy? Why should the governor travel to Edinburgh and be interrogated by Scottish MPs? After independence, after all, he will owe his appointment entirely to an English-Welsh-Northern Irish government. Or will Alec Salmond come south, and sit in an ante-room in Threadneedle Street, hoping for an audience?
Then there is the basic question of what this independent state of Scotland is supposed to be, and how it is meant to relate to the rest of the world. We are talking about a secession from the Union of the United Kingdom, and many EU diplomats have now made it clear to Salmond that this is exactly the same as seceding from the EU. If the Scots wanted to remain in the EU (and they seem, for some reason, to think this is necessary) Scotland would have to seek an immediate accession – and the question is: who would conduct the negotiations?
Why should this be done by UKrep, the UK office in Brussels, when Scotland has voted to leave the UK? The Scots would have to equip themselves instantly with a new cadre of diplomats. There would have to be a Scottish foreign office around the world – wouldn’t there? And if not, why not? What about Britain’s nuclear missiles, and the need to use submarine bases in Scotland? What about Scottish regiments in the British Army?
There are endless opportunities for confusion and bickering. Then there is one final point that no one seems to have grasped: that this is not just the end of the United Kingdom. It is the end of Britain. Yes, of course, there will still be an island called Great Britain, the largest in the British Isles. But Britain as a political entity will be annihilated. This very name of our nation only gained currency after the Act of Union, and makes no sense with the top section lopped off and “independent”.
And then what? What happens to British sporting teams? What happens, for goodness’ sake, to the “British” Broadcasting Corporation? Nobody has the faintest idea. I am appalled that the pro-independence vote is up at 38 per cent. We need someone — the Americans? — to step in as a kind of marriage guidance counsellor and tell us to stop being so damn stupid. Divorce will diminish us both. It will be unutterably wretched and painful, and it will eliminate the most successful political union in history.
Scotland is to hold a referendum on independence from the UK Photo: PA
By Boris Johnson
I have a faded sticker on the back of my car that reads: I (heart) Scotland. I have a feeling it was stuck there by some fellows from Strathclyde police when they came down to help with the Notting Hill carnival, and I keep it there because it reflects my general feelings. I (heart) Scotland in the way that so many of us Sassenachs do: you know, fabulous place, lovely people, gorgeous purple moors, great white beaches and an incomparable contribution to Western thought and civilisation, from Adam Smith to Andrew Neil.
I (heart) Scotland so much that I once made a doomed attempt to become rector of a Scottish university, in which I destroyed a massive poll lead by announcing that I was not only English but in favour of top-up fees, and ended up coming third and having beer poured over my head. But still I (heart) Scotland. I (heart) the bagpipes and the porridge and the view from Arthur’s Seat and swimming with seals and the funny prehistoric cows with ginger fringes and the see-you-Jimmy tam-o’-shanter that I keep as a memento of one holiday; and so I find it positively (heart) breaking to find that serious people are now worried that the union between England and Scotland – a gigantic political fact for 306 years – is under threat.
Never mind the sentiment, the fuzzy warm feelings I have about the place. Whatever happens, tourism will continue, after all. We are on the verge of losing something even more precious – to both Scotland and England – and I don’t think people have woken up to the full lunacy of what is afoot. In its desultory complacency, the conversation reminds me of some middle-aged couple deciding to get divorced. All they can think about is the liberation – the new beginnings, the excitement. So more and more English people are thinking, what the hell: if the Scots want to walk out, why don’t we just let them?
We won’t have to subsidise them any more via the Barnett formula, people think; and there are plenty of Tories who secretly agree with John Major, and reckon that getting rid of all those Scottish Labour MPs would be a fine thing for England and the Conservative Party. As for the Scots — well, I can see the attraction: your own nation, your own government, and the chance to join the ranks of those small and dynamic countries that seem to be happiest and most prosperous.
What both sides are forgetting – and they have this in common with divorcing couples – is that it may look OK on day one, but on day two the lawyers come in. There is the division of property to work out, the rights of access to be determined. The longer the marriage has lasted, the more there is to unpick, and the more hellish and self-flayingly painful the whole process becomes.
After three centuries of union, England and Scotland are not just woven together by sentiment, but by a cat’s cradle of intricate legal and political ties. Fibre by fibre that would have to be sliced apart, and the result will be agony and endless recrimination.
On Tuesday, the Scottish government will publish a vast White Paper explaining how on earth it is supposed to work. So here are some of the questions I hope that document will be able to settle. We are told that the proposal is that Scotland would keep the Queen as head of state and the pound as the national currency – though presumably both of these commitments could be varied by a future Scottish parliament.
But on what basis does Scotland get to keep the pound? Will they use sterling informally, just as some Latin American countries rely on the dollar? And why should the Bank of England take any notice of Scotland in setting monetary policy? Why should the governor travel to Edinburgh and be interrogated by Scottish MPs? After independence, after all, he will owe his appointment entirely to an English-Welsh-Northern Irish government. Or will Alec Salmond come south, and sit in an ante-room in Threadneedle Street, hoping for an audience?
Then there is the basic question of what this independent state of Scotland is supposed to be, and how it is meant to relate to the rest of the world. We are talking about a secession from the Union of the United Kingdom, and many EU diplomats have now made it clear to Salmond that this is exactly the same as seceding from the EU. If the Scots wanted to remain in the EU (and they seem, for some reason, to think this is necessary) Scotland would have to seek an immediate accession – and the question is: who would conduct the negotiations?
Why should this be done by UKrep, the UK office in Brussels, when Scotland has voted to leave the UK? The Scots would have to equip themselves instantly with a new cadre of diplomats. There would have to be a Scottish foreign office around the world – wouldn’t there? And if not, why not? What about Britain’s nuclear missiles, and the need to use submarine bases in Scotland? What about Scottish regiments in the British Army?
There are endless opportunities for confusion and bickering. Then there is one final point that no one seems to have grasped: that this is not just the end of the United Kingdom. It is the end of Britain. Yes, of course, there will still be an island called Great Britain, the largest in the British Isles. But Britain as a political entity will be annihilated. This very name of our nation only gained currency after the Act of Union, and makes no sense with the top section lopped off and “independent”.
And then what? What happens to British sporting teams? What happens, for goodness’ sake, to the “British” Broadcasting Corporation? Nobody has the faintest idea. I am appalled that the pro-independence vote is up at 38 per cent. We need someone — the Americans? — to step in as a kind of marriage guidance counsellor and tell us to stop being so damn stupid. Divorce will diminish us both. It will be unutterably wretched and painful, and it will eliminate the most successful political union in history.
