DON’T quote me on this - or indeed anything - but I suspect that most Scots, at least among the anorak-wearing intellectuals and similar unskilled savants, are more interested in what happens at Holyrood than in the doings of a land far, far away: Westminster. I could be wrong but, as I’m correct around 15% of the time, I believe the idea worth pursuing.

The punters’ preference is understandable. Holyrood, for all its limited powers, is “oor Parliament”. It might act daft. But it’s our dafties. Our MPs at Westminster also act daft, but they’re a sideshow, many actively aiding and abetting the impression of being a pantomime turn. Harry Lauder MP.

I confess candidly that I’m no longer directly au fait with Holyrood so can’t comment sagely on the form or style of it. But I do read about the content in The Herald’s news pages and, often, the old jaw hits the floor with a thunk.

Perhaps it was ever thus. I attended Scotland’s Parliament two or three times a week in its early years - duty not pleasure - and was indeed the first person thrown out of the joint (for interviewing punters queueing for its inaugural session).

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At the time, hopes were high. Scotland had a large, educated middle-class; professionals; creatives; philosophers. We’d have great MSPs. Then I turned up for the first meeting and thought: "Who the hell are they?" The impression was one of suborned party placemen, cooncillors, jakies, dunderheids and moon-howlers. I could have wept.

I am, as ever, over-egging this in the name of pressin’ yir buttons for a laugh. But, still, I vividly recall my disappointment. Other hopes were more slowly dashed. The original ideal was to be less confrontational than - better than (a recurring theme) - the Parliament in yonder London. The new chamber was curved for consensus, rather than having seats facing other so that opponents might inhale each other’s halitosis.

At first, all parties tried being nice, reasonable. But these are not qualities esteemed in British politics and, soon, the House of Commons’ hullabaloo was emulated. How ironic.

The new Parliament had its enemies from the start of course: Scottish people. As a sketch writer, I’d get letters from unionists encouraging me to up the light satire to aggressive hatred. Nats, meanwhile, accused me of undermining the place. Somebody high up at STV said I was its worst enemy. Me, who’d voted for the thing! The sad truth is Scotland wasn’t politically mature enough for sketch writing. And sketch writing, by its very nature, is immature.

Holyrood has had time to mature now and is starting to smell a bit whiffy, with one daft fringe initiative after another brought forth to show how “progressive” (read “better than the English”) it is.

Like many decent ratepayers who’ve supported independence for decades, recent shenanigans at Holyrood have given me cause for doubt. Reworking the old mantra, I don’t believe we’re too small. I don’t believe we’re too poor. But I’ve started to wonder if we’re too stupid.

The Irish and Welsh seem similarly nuts, endlessly virtue-signalling, making one wonder if, as with the religious history of the three Celtic nations, we’ve a tendency towards moral purity, contrasting ourselves high-handedly with the lackadaisical English and their more moderate approach to matters spiritual and even, these days, temporal.

That said, anyone undecided about independence who watched Westminster’s Scottish Questions - with posh Tories from English shires explaining Scotland to us – would shortly thereafter head straight to one of Edinburgh’s top tartan tat shops, there to purchase a massive, polythene Saltire in which to wrap themselves before waddling along on the next of the almost weekly demonstrations demanding independence or, at least, attention.

It’s a shame really as I’ve always loved the House of Commons. Its hallowed halls breathe history (though I hate Parliament Hall where Wallace was tried). English MPs often display admirable gravitas, generosity, and je-ne-ken-whit. They’re good at it. They’ve more experience.

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Say what you like about the Tories (and I do), but they’re undoubtedly more suave. Properly turned out. Not like the SNP benches, which look like the cast of Rab C Nesbitt dressed for a gaudy wedding. Frequently, you see tartan ties which, like trews, are the costumery of Satan.

This week, it emerged that the Westminster Speaker, Sir Lindsay Hoyle, is to enforce dress rules, in particular the need to wear a tie. He should have specified: “But not a tartan one.”

I’m not aware of what they wear at Holyrood now. Reader’s voice: “It’s hoodies with grey trackie bottoms.” Unhand me, madam! I’m not buying that. You and your satire!