Twenty years of a good thing that hasn’t amounted to a great deal

It was his call for a second chamber or Citizens’ Assembly in Scotland that created the headlines this week, with the idea being to create a body that allows the common people (yay!) and councils (boo!) to query Holyrood legislation.

Jack said that what he was seeking was a “bottom-up check”, but I really think that should have remained a private matter between himself and his doctor.

Essentially, he wants to create a sort of House of Lords, but without the big red gowns and daily vat of sherry. Rightly, he points out that formerly influential bodies like the Kirk and the STUC hardly get a look-in these days. But if we’re going to fiddle about constitutionally with society’s bottom, surely it should be we, the common people, that get to sit on our butts in a second assembly, and not a bunch of ministers with their heids in the clouds or trade unionists angling for more pay.

We, the people, could be chosen by Lottery or nominated by popular acclaim. Ever since the electoral demise of the Socialists, Holyrood has suffered from a lack of scruffs whose purpose would be to keep the political elite in touch with actual non-suited and indeed unsuitable people at the sharp end of reality-style life.

However, while it was this second chamber argument that drew the attention of a good three or four people, the revelation that got the populace cocking an ear trumpet involved Jack recounting the time that, when then Prime Minister Tony Blair was thinking of giving the troublesome Scots devolution, he invited the jaunty Jock down for a chat – and, before saying anything, offered him a glass of wine.

According to Jack, this had never happened before, possibly because of the risk that it might start him singing.

T Blair: “So, Jock, now that you’ve inhaled your glass of wine, what do you think of my devolution proposal?”

Jack stands up reverently, bows head, holds onion under eye and begins: “I’m nobody’s child …”

In reality, Jack appears to have sipped suspiciously at the alcoholic beverage and said: “Aye, a’right. D’you have any dry roasted peanuts?”

And that’s how we got where we are today. Jack seems to think that the best thing the parlie ever did was institute a smoking ban but, in a way, that just kinda hints at the whole problem with the place.

In the great scheme of things, it was a Good Thing but no Big Deal. If that’s the best we’ve done, it shows the fundamentally limited power of the wee institution. It’s the same with minimum pricing of alcohol. Small beer.

I know there was also the legislation against fox-mangling and in favour of gay marriage, but it’s still not the big economic or diplomatic stuff of statesmanship.

Imagine if Jack had been leader of a country with full, proper powers. He could have gone about starting wars or stravaiging into the United Nations saying, “Aye, you shut up” and “Can we have a window open?”. Real influence in the world.

Scotland’s constitutional position remains unsatisfactory to everyone. Imagine if Tony Blair had offered Jack a huge dram and said: “Right, Jock, I’ve been thinking about this and have decided to give Scotland her complete and utter freedom. Well, cheerio.”

Jack would have staggered out with the bottle in the sporran of his pinstripe kilt, thinking: ‘But we don’t have a House of Lords in Scotland. What am I going to do?’ Ach well, it’s all water of life under the bridge noo. But we might still get a second chamber of sorts yet.

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IT isn’t right that Doris Day had to die, but there it is, and I suppose she had a good innings, pegging out at 97.

In the 1950s, she stood for all that was wholesome and good, so she’d probably be arrested today. It’s a sad aspect of life on this daft Earth that nothing is what it seems.

I watch a Carry On film at least once a day (you have your meditation technique, I have mine), but it was sad to learn that the lives of many actors in these jolly farces were marked by misery, alcoholism, sexual problems, poverty and, in at least one case, suicide.

That’s odd: these are all the chapter headings in my forthcoming autobiography.

Doris had none of that, but she did have four marriages, one of these abusive and another that saw her cash swindled from her. She complained about being portrayed as “America’s virgin”, but disapproved of the permissiveness of the 1960s, even if she agreed it made sense to shack up with someone before signing up for a life sentence of marriage.

Anyway, there goes another nail in the coffin of innocence. Only Kim Kardashian can save us now.

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THERE’S been a stooshie. I know: there’s always a stooshie going on in Scotland. But this one’s serious. It involves square sausage.

The controversial comestible became the centre of controversy when German supermarket firm Aldi claimed to have invented it, though they called it “sausedge”. Groan.

Twitter erupted as Scots responded to the invention claim with shouts of “Did ye, aye?”, and pointed out that Lorne sausage – to give it its proper, Sunday name – had been around in Scotland for ever or 100 years, whichever is the greater.

Tweeters echoed Braveheart, crying: “They may take our lives, but they’ll never take our sausage!” Comedian Janey Godley claimed the dish had been invented by Robert the Bruce. Fellow comic Limmy accused Aldi of “cultural appropriation”

To cap it all, German supermarket rivals Lidl tweeted. “Things Aldi also claim to have invented: 1. Irn Bru. 2. Haggis. 3. The Proclaimers. 4. Yer Da Selling Avon.”

The last, as sophisticated Herald readers know, is an insult suggesting your father lacked manly virtues. You’ll also know that square sausage is most often put on a roll and eaten on a Sunday, Saturday, or Monday to Friday, and that it is essential for both sexual stamina and mental fortitude.

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SO-CALLED millennials are always getting it in the neck for one thing or another, though this week they also got it in the lip, the bottom one to be exact, which a new study said was prone to wobbling.

Millennials are young people who reached adulthood soon after the year 2000, a traumatic time marked by strange celestial events. On New Year’s Eve, I personally saw two moons though, to be fair, I saw two of everything else.

The latest study, carried out by Opinium Research for Privilege Insurance, found that millennials were twice as likely to cry in public than older generations, such as mine, which were toughened in the fires of Thatcherism and the gassy bubbles of gut-rot beer.

One in eight younger adults said they had cried on public transport, while twice as many had burst oot greetin’ in the pub. It’s not clear why this is. Certainly, we know that they’re easily offended or triggered, and believe everything is about “feelings”, which are best avoided in my experience.

Commentators have lambasted this lack of emotional restraint, urging millennials to adopt a stiff upper lip. Bad move. It just made them start greetin’ again.

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