Stones of Cameron

Everyone knows where the Stone of Scone is, you can take a Scottish tour to see it, but the whereabouts of the Stones Of Cameron are more of a mystery, you’d have thought they were safely tucked away in a Westminster scrotum, but I can reveal exclusively for the first time that they aren’t, that they were lost in a gamble related to British constitutional affairs, and that they now rest in a jam jar on a mantelpiece somewhere in Kirkaldy, private viewing only. How do I know this, from my vantage point in Istanbul, where I’m chewing the cud with my esteemed colleague, Joey Kasim Pasha? That’s a question of centrality and balance and Joey’s savoire faire; from Istanbul if you train your eyes you can see outwards in circles, so in this case a view that extends as far South East as Saudi Arabia also extends, if you turn your head 180°, as far North West as Scotland, so that it’s possible to explore issues connected to fascism simultaneously in the House of Saud and the House of Salmond, if you know what to look for.

Stone of Scone

So if you’re hoping for revelations and provocations that feed anti-Turkish prejudices, including constitutional challenges like advocacy for Kurdish Independence, you’ve come to the wrong place, since I restrict the insights on offer here to things that affect our shared ancestors. But since the world and his wife have an opinion about Scottish Independence, when Wee Jimmy meets our Joey, with the ‘No’ vote now safely and predictably in, and Devo Max handed over without a fight or a vote, I feel it’s time to speak now and hang the consequences, so our mixed heritage children might have a United Kingdom to visit one day in the future, and secure Turkish borders to live within, since national socialism sold as independence can be contagious and costly.

Now it’s probably safe to lift your skirt and reveal which way you dress like any True Scotsman (a ‘True Scotsman’ used to be a schoolboy who went al fresco under his kilt to prove his manhood in cold weather), but being asked to vote on Scottish independence with Devo Max discussed but left off the ballot paper adds up to more sin of omission than coy revelation, something similar to William Wallace shouting ‘freedom’ while getting tickled with a feather rather than hung drawn and quartered at the end of Braveheart, or Sean Connery wearing a sporran without a kilt while on a rare public visit to Scotland from his Bahamas tax haven, or Alex Salmond in bed eating neeps without haggis in the executive suite of the five star Shangri-La La Land Hotel on the English taxpayer’s tab negotiating the referendum question wording with a blushing Sir David Camelot.

Famous Scottish dishes

Now we don’t know where Sir David’s head was, except up high or up somewhere, or in an even worse place geo-anatomically speaking, because any chance of a decisive answer that might have halted the remorseless march to socialism in Scotland ended with the loaded question ‘Should Scotland be an independent country?’, with the polled proletariat asked to tick the ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ box. As the English taxpayer and the Scottish landlord will soon discover, never send a Tim nice but dim style Public Relations Officer armed with a Boy Scout’s pocket knife and torch to Ging Gang Guly with an Al sharpton style Sales Manager armed with his Braveheart skien du and a spotlight, or yer gonni git reet shafted.

Any average person or salesman with a superficial grasp of psychology will tell you how the framing of a question has a bearing on the answer. He needed at least an equal say in that, the rest by comparison was immaterial, so what went wrong? By all accounts that, and some other important stuff, was traded in to keep the default Devo Max question off the ballot paper. But then it doesn’t look so good when you get panicked by a poll close to referendum day and give your forbidden fruit away in a desperate bribe. All the socialist serpent had to do was whisper Devo Max Delicious into his receptive ear, and Adam Cameron was up the tree like a fruit monkey and then off to Eve Salmond with the Golden Brown apple in his bag to tempt her to stay with him for at least another generation in the Garden of Welfare.

So what should have been the question, that everyone could understand from personal experience in the modern world, especially Mel Gibson and his Braveheart fans worldwide who hate the English for one reason or another, or no reason at all? How about ‘Should Scotland get Divorced from England, Wales and Northern Ireland?’ with a focus on what Scotland and England respectively were like before the marriage, what they achieved during the marriage, and what they might be like after divorce? Then there are no dark lies lurking behind some disarmingly simple question. Marriage is marriage, you need a priest and a ring and a witness and a party to celebrate, divorce is divorce you need fair grounds, a lawyer and a publicist or agent and if it gets ugly a judge and a settlement, and everyone even the misty eyed Highland early pubescents and assorted students armed with the vote now know that divorce is painful, period. It’s really very simple. Everyone can get or be divorced, capitalists, nationalists, socialists, fascists, communists, activists, pacifists, Scots and Kurds, the format is the same, it is ugly getting there mostly unless you’re a superstar capable of unconscious coupling, you lose friends you gain friends, and maybe new lovers and another marriage if you work hard and you’re lucky. But independence? That’s not so straightforward.

Often signed in blood

Except where modern socialism, or the welfare state, or entitlements are concerned. There it could not be clearer. There can be no question of independence with socialism because it has become a creed of dependence, it encourages the expression of grievances, which lead directly to inner slavery, and the more militant the expression, the greater the reward in material benefits provided by the cowed collective, mostly the taxpayer, which leads to outer slavery. Unfortunately it doesn’t stop there, with just a few malcontents expressing their grievances and getting paid for it, since the material benefits feed the grievances, and they strengthen and multiply, in a very definite line of development. Now, everyone knows about the five stages of grief as they relate to an individual, which starts with loss and proceed by ways winding and dangerous through denial, anger, bargaining and depression to acceptance on a new higher level of awareness if you’re lucky, but not everyone knows the five stages of grievance as they relate to the collective, which starts with socialism, then nationalism, then national socialism, and then fascism or communism, which equates to totalitarianism, religious or secular, which is the lowest level of humanity. It should be clear to any impartial observer that if socialism is the starting point, the way to independence is double down on self-discipline and personal responsibility, and then turn right to free market capitalism, where power over the collective and the individual is shared between the market and elected leaders, not continue further left to nationalism, where the market is marginalised the voters are bribed and terrorised and leaders begin to elect themselves.

The question boils down to this. Should a Scotland precariously teetering between socialism and nationalism and an England lost somewhere between crony capitalism and socialism get divorced? And the answer, if you’re an English free market capitalist concerned about the effect of galloping socialism, has to be ‘Yes’, and if the aggrieved and deluded Scottish wifey wants to play the victim and campaign for that outcome, she should be encouraged, not restrained, since you can drive a better settlement with someone who desperately wants something, even more so if what they want is a mad romantic nostalgic dream based on a misty eyed view of a noble past that never existed. Those empire building Scots like Adam Smith who helped make Britain great can RIP or move South of the new border, and join other free market capitalists in the fight to save the English from socialism. And when the myth of the noble savage disappears along with the money created by capitalism, and wee wifey breaks up into warring factions like 300 years ago, only this time inner city gangs rather than highland clans, who’s going to step in with the Union marriage plan this time? If she finds prosperity with a new European husband, or some other hungry socialist Superstate, as one of many welfare concubines, and receives the type of love she demands and deserves, praise the heavens, a divorced wife who finds promiscuity and happiness is infinitely preferable to one who meets regret and bitterness.

Poll dancer
Poll dancing has been known to turn voters minds upside down

What was more questionable than even the noble savage myth enshrined in Braveheart, in an independence electoral war of unbelievable claims, was the authenticity of the poll and the agenda of the polling company that published a dramatic late swing in favour of the ‘Yes’ campaign, and the sudden inglorious intervention of Golden Brown, up until then a heavily brooding deeply wronged and misunderstood Hamlet figure skulking in some Kirkaldy thicket. Give the poor man some more taxpayer’s credit, he saw redemption in the form of an opening to Save Scotland from Alex Salmond, and probably to Save Salmond from himself, by using the rogue poll panic to get Devo Max back on the table. Any horseman knows that even the least threatening unexpected movement in a neighbouring field can spook thorougbreds, and that nothing works better to keep the lid on all those fragile racing emotions than the companionship of a decent packhorse, which was Labour’s Darling, and if that’s not enough, throw in a canny donkey, which explains Brown’s return to the political field.

Cometh the moment, cometh the man, and you have to wonder, with the Labour Party’s very existence under threat, whether the whole thing wasn’t one giant set up, and if it was, marvel at the opportunism and cover up, since it was one of those interventions that looked to the uninitiated like a black swan game changer rather than some presbyterian byproduct of Golden Brown’s desperation for salvation, atonement, recognition, acceptance and renewal. And however it’s construed, you have to admit Saving the Union adds credence to his claims to have Saved the World during the subprime crisis. Is there a possibility he could consolidate his saviour status by brokering a massive Euro bribe for the UK when they get their ‘in out’ referendum question, and thereby add Saved the European Union to his CV?

The Kirkaldy Donkey?

Whatever the longer term outcome, one undeniable benefit came from Golden Brown riding in on his Kirkaldy Donkey to save the socialist Union’s day, supported by a contrite Camelot trying to sob and beg his way out of the humiliation he believed a ‘Yes’ would bring him and his socialist Sand Castle. At that moment, for all right minded, right thinking free market capitalists, any difficulty weighing up this and that before voting disappeared in an instant, since if Golden Brown and the weeping Camelot wanted ‘No’, then the only way out of this maize of danger and contradictions had to be ‘Yes’. And liberated by that insight, the right choice for open or free market capitalism, there would have been less surprise at what followed on from the narrow ‘No’ vote.

Firstly, the sour grapes of Salmond. For him, and by extension for many of his hardcore supporters, there was never a ‘No’ vote, since one of the defining characteristics of a mildly militant grievance mongerer like Salmond is that they never take ‘No’ for an answer, ‘No’ could only ever be a staging post on the way to ‘Yes’, by means fair or fowl. So a narrow ‘No’ victory would call forth a soft ‘Yes’ fight back tomorrow, and a wide ‘No’ a hard ‘Yes’ fight back today. Only a crushing ‘No’, a 70:30 rejection, could have seen off ‘Yes’, its talisman and his fanatics for the foreseeable future, and the question was framed and the campaign conducted in such a way as to make that outcome all but impossible.

Sour grapes. They’ll ripen in my time.

So no need for any walking back on Devo Max promises that in the cold light of day might be hard to deliver on, the Salmonds and Sturgeons and all the other fish in the national socialist sea would find cause to fight on in every case other than abject defeat, and abject defeat is almost culturally impossible in modern socialist Britain, since it requires crushing victory, and that modus operandi went out with the loss of the Empire and the Great in Britain, along with many other things. Sometimes, as in the international advertising campaigns that feature a big capital type-faced GREAT and a small Britain, reality gets left in the wake of denial, with dangerous consequences for the core brand, or the risk of widespread derision when a great roar of words is followed by a little squeak of actions. We are referring here to the infliction of abject defeat on the enemy in the heat of battle, not its acceptance, which of course comes easy to a progressive socialist like Camelot when it comes to protecting the English from Devo Max.

National socialism in Scotland. A fishy affair.

And secondly, with Devo Max, nothing more than a massive socialist bribe, the ‘Yes’ vote of the national socialists is bound to feed off the growing number of those put onto the new socialist Devo Max welfare payroll, so that between them Salmond and Brown and Cameron have accelerated momentum towards Scottish national socialist ‘independence’ sooner or later, at a far greater cost to the English and free market capitalism than a quick and clean ‘Yes’ divorce or a crushing ‘No’ rejection, and if Camelot is still confused, he should go and have a chat with Princess Samcam and she’ll explain that if a modern man acts tough with his lover or wife, and she calls his bluff, and he runs back to her and begs on hands and knees to be taken back, and unluckily for him she does, it won’t be for free, he’ll have to pay a price. And if that can’t be his trousers, because the lively Samcam took those off him long ago, it must be something else.

Now Turks not used to critical thinking and clear analysis would lap up the poor downtrodden Scottish underdog and their hero of independence Alex Salmond versus the cruel over-taxing heartless English tyrant with their Union loving royalist Sir David Camelot propaganda, to deflect attention from the poor downtrodden Kurdish underdog and their imprisoned hero of Independence Abdullah Ocalan versus the cruel over-taxing heartless Turkish tyrant and their Caliphate loving republican Erdogan … yeah right! But they know deep down that while mildly militant Salmond and fully militant Ocalan are two national socialist pees in the same grievance mongering, agitating pod, elitist secular socialist Cameron and roughian religious conservative Erdogan are chalk and cheese, which explains why street wise scrapper Erdogan gets even with national socialist Ocalan while elite wise dapper Cameron gets exposed by national socialist Salmond, which over a glass of raki or Friday prayers with Joey K-P satisfies any imaginary anti-English and anti-Kurdish grievances that need nursing along.

Chalk and cheese

There are many demographic, geographic and cultural similarities between Scots and Kurds, except that Kurds are predominantly poor with no welfare state, but probably one big psychological difference. If you leave any clearances, Highland or Armenian, to one side, most Turks would secretly agree that Kurds have real cause for grievance, whereas most English would say the whining Scots have none, and analysis shows that it is much harder to sacrifice imaginary grievances, for hard work and a better future, than real ones. And in another psychological twist connected to guilt, the 63m English hold no collective animus towards the 5m Scots, whom they have treated rather too well, whereas the 75m Turkish collective attitude to the 15m Kurds is predominantly negative, whom they have treated pretty badly. Unless you are of the opinion that fighting through adversity makes for strength and creativity, as in the example of slavery and the successful Afro-Americans, who went from African rags to Kanye West riches in a few generations, a journey that took their Caucasian servants a couple of milleniums. And if it took the Scots 300 years to evolve from self-inflicted bankruptcy to where they are now via a successful Union that began in hostility, would that be the best way for the Kurds? Certainly, the revolutionary Committee for Union and Progress didn’t work out too well for anyone. What about an Act Of Union, and a Great Turkey? There are plenty of warring tribes along Turkey’s Southern border who are no better off than the Scots were in 1707. If they prefer civil war, they can always try Devo Max.

For those who dream in green

But getting seriously funny, since this issue is often deadly serious, if the Turks love the Scots, and the English feel sorry for the Kurds, however misguided each believe the other to be in their affections, surely the best solution would be an ‘in out’ collective wife swap referendum that aimed not to offend anyone’s beliefs or sensitivities? The question to the Scots could be ‘Do you want to move to the Democratic Republic of Kurdland?’ and to the Kurds ‘Do you want to move to the Democratic Republic of Scotistan?’ You could send floating voters on a peacekeeping mission to the Democratic Republic of Congo to help them make their minds up. My bet would be on one-way traffic, bad weather notwithstanding, with the Scots getting to share their utopian future with 15m Kurds. Once they’ve got their Scottish passport, paid homage to the sizeable Stone of Scone in Edinburg Castle and learnt Gaelic, the newcomers can top off their cultural initiation by visiting the much smaller Stones of Cameron in a jam jar on the Kirkaldy mantelpiece of the mighty Golden Brown.

And those who’d look at this and take fright

Make no mistake, if Camelot wants to save his kingdom, he’ll have to ask the right question next time, which presumably won’t be ‘Should the United Kingdom be an independent country?’, unless he really has lost his marbles, since it’s unlikely Golden Brown can jimmy a huge rebate bung out of the Brussels like he did Westminster to bribe the rising tide of Little Islanders. Because if he doesn’t run a wily campaign, what’s left of his crown jewels will end up on EU member only display in a tiny cippolata dish next to a huge busk of Thatcher on the desk in Barroso’s comfortable EU index-linked pension funded retirement office in Brussels for Kurds and Turks to admire on their EU cultural assimilation tour after the European Union replaces one bickering wannabe Little Again wife with a squabbling wannabe Great Again one. If regional experience is anything to go by, Mrs. Turkey will warmly welcome Mr. Euro’s comparatively free, relaxed culture and petty rules, and then, when it suits her, either flaunt or totally ignore them. Why can’t Mrs. Britain do the same? Too busy self-righteously spending other peoples’ money on the way to hurdle, noose and quartering table. Freeeedeeeeerrrm!

Old fashioned freedom

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