As imagined by Brian Beacom

YES, I’ve ruled myself out of the SNP leadership race, declaring I ‘had to do what was right for my family, the Scottish National Party and our country’.

Now, you’re suggesting it sounds too nebulous, like Nicola’s favourite prefix ‘Let me be clear,’ whereby she would go on to be anything but...

Well, that’s exactly the thoughts of the Glaswegian taxi driver I endured yesterday who, very cheekily, assumed the role of life coach.

‘This leadership contest is not one you want to enter, mate,’ he declared. ‘This is a three-legged race in which your ankles will be tied to the slowest, knock-kneed boy in the school, who also happens to be visually impaired and bereft of competitive drive.’

I told him I didn’t need to hear any more of his absurd metaphor, but he would have none of it.

‘Mr Sweeney, you’ll be dragging along the declining voter support for independence, the dud that is the de-facto referendum, the divisions in Scotland over oil-drilling, the Scottish budget deficit – that’s now twice the UK rate – and the gender reform act controversy.’

Then he hit me with the killer line; ‘Are you honestly going to stand up and declare what it means to be a woman?’

I tried to look out the window to fake disinterest, but this man was relentless.

‘Are you really in a position to poop-scoop the mess Nicola has left behind – the factionalism in the party – the belief the FM’s rule was just a little less autocratic than that of a 1950s' Brown Owl – the funding battle with local authorities, Scotland’s tragic health records?’

He offered a little chuckle.

‘That’s not all. The party still has to face plod's investigation of the ‘missing’ £600k in SNP accounts, and why Mr Nicola ‘lent’ the party £100k.’

He added; ‘Look, John, when quizzed about possible quizzing from Police Scotland, did the FM not take off like a McColgan?’

The driver made me think of another issue. Could I compete with her world status?

It was right and fitting our wonderful FM exited at the same time as another feminist legend.

Admittedly, I can’t imagine Nicola wearing a fur bikini but she and Raquel were two powerful female icons who took on the dinosaurs and won, with Nicola’s very own diplodocus being Alex.

The taxi driver underlined his own position. ‘No one will think you’re beset by some baseless Hobbesian fear,’ he said, with a wry smile.

'Nor will they consider you a Homer Simpson-like figure who won’t step up to the plate. And look, John. You’ve fallen flat on your face as Education Secretary. You tasted the dog-wee wet grass of ignominy. You know only a daftie would enter this race.’

He added, laughing. ‘What the party needs now is someone blind to fact they’re a cert to be tripped up.’

I gave him a fiver tip and smiled, thinking ‘You’re right. This is a job for Gary: Tank Commander. Or better still, Humza.’