In the inglenook of the Tam O’Shanter, Hamish and Donald are engaged in political exchange, and whisky, on the imminent referendum that could deliver Scotland’s independence from Britain.
“Well, what do ye think?” asks Hamish
“I’m no sure, Hamish. What about?”
“Scottish or British, Donald?”
“Oh Scotch everytime, Laphroaig for me” Donald replies.
“Turn up yer hearin’ aid, ya goose. I’m saying Scottish or British? Will ye vote Yes or No?”
“I’ll be votin’ Yes, so mak’ that a double!”
“Hae’ ye been followin’ the polls?”
“No, I didnae ken they’d qualified fur the World Cup.”
“Ah fur God sake, Donald, pay attention.The opinion polls, the opinion polls. Are ye followin’ me?”
“Oh aye, aye, the opinion polls ‘bout the referendum. Aye 18th September, aye I know. No I havenae”
“How will the Mother of all Parliaments, that lot at Westminster, take a Yes vote do ye think?”
The rafters of the old bar tremble and shudder with a deep and resonant voice,
“Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.”
“Very profound, Donald, and nae doubt true.”
“And Cameron, I’m wonderin’ how he’ll take to a yes vote.”
“Now Hamish, what has thon wee gobshite ever done for us Scots, eh?”
Again the rafters roar,
“Ah wee sleekit, cow’rin’, timorous beastie,
What a panic’s in tha breastie….”
“Lord, Laddie,” says Hamish,” a drop of the whisky brings out the very soul of this country in ye. We’ll ha’ another will we?”
“Aye, Hamish that wud be a Yes!”
Pardon my vernacular but having Scottish kith and kin allows me a little leeway. Well maybe.