Ickle Wussell Bwown MP for Dumfries and Galloway seen above wiv a big man, has well and truly scraped the barrel of political intrigue in an attack on Mike Russell Minister for Culture, External Affairs and the Constitution.
Someone has pointed him in the direction of a passage in a book Mike Russell wrote ELEVEN years ago, before he was an MSP called 'In Waiting: Travels In The Shadow Of Edwin Muir', in which he retraces the steps of the Orkney poet and author took through Scotland in the 1930's, about Dumfries.
Mike Russell wrote:
'The centre... has the usual chain stores and the usual complement of skinny, ill-dressed women in their 20s who seem to hover around cheap Scottish shops like importuning wraiths'
Cue indignation and demands of "apologise", "resign" from Ickle Wussell and his friends at he Daily Retard.
Now having visited Dumfries, I can only say that Mike Russell is being kind to a large number of women in the town who would love to think of themselves as skinny. The celebrated Galloway chassis is much to be admired, having been well ahead of the curve in the acclaimed pre-obesity days...
Now as a bit of a cultural anorak, I've been able to do something that neither Ickle Wussell and his friends (including our beloved AM2) have been able to do, that is err read the book. So intrigued with this revelation that a Minister of the Scottish Government would 'cruelly taunt' the unfortunate 'skinny woman' of Dumfries I sought out the offending chapter...and here it is.
"Dumfries deserves more than a casual glance, however. I find a parking space on the Whitesands-still alovely riverside spot despite the acres of tarmac dominated by the car. The River Nith in Dumfries is unlike most rivers in Scottish towns because it gives the impression not of gentle descent but of untrammelled power - and it bursts its banks on regular occasions, requiring radio alerts to careless commuters whose vehicles are about to sink beneath the waves. I don't think I have ever been in Dumfries without seeing a sandbag, kept in readiness for the regular inundations. The town centre - with its back to the river - has the usual sprinkling of chain stores and the usual complement of skinny, ill dressed women in their early twenties who seem to hoever around cheap Scottish shops like importuning wraiths. These are the marginal people of Scottish society, existing on poorly paid part-time jobs or inadequate benefits, living from night out to night out. They are as much victims of poor living conditions as the unemployed that Muir saw hanging about on street corners 60 years ago. "
So not really an attack on skinny lassies. However, the chapter continues and contains a fascinating parallel between the fortunes that divide the people of Scotland.
" I talk to two of them at the mouth of the Vennel - the alloway that leads up to Burns Square. (Ironically opposite the Labour Party office) Both are unemployed, both are single mothers, and both are curious that there might be some ulterior motive for me seeking them out - perhaps a social security enquiry. They have remarkable little sense of grievance against the society that has done precious little for them - the poverty of their ambition is irking. They want not much more than a decent house (and they are doing their best to make their own council homes into that desirable state), clothes and toys for the 'kiddies' and the money to have a drink and a laugh with their friends. One - Janette- has never voted and doesn't think it worth the effort. The other - Susan- has voted Labour all her life but 'disnae see anything changing.' She might vote SNP, more likeley than not as she thinks about it, because she knows her benefit is under threat. They are both unsure about the what the new Parliament will do for them. Perhaps give them more money, perhaps pay some attention to child care. Perhaps evne help them get a job. And they have at all about what they want from the Parliament. The question hangs in the air and they seem disinterested in answering it. There are thousands of Jeanettes and Susans the length and breadth of Scotland who are perhaps not in the direst poverty, but for whom there is little chance of a better life short of winning the national lottery. And thousands for whom politics is not even of casual interest and for whom a new parliament has a vague association with Scottishness and themselves, but no association with anything that they might actually aspire to.
But there are also thousands of Sallys. Working in an upmarket chain store she is ambitious, about to get married and political in the sense that votes and tries to think about what choice would be best for her future. She has voted Tory in the past - some people still do- and might again, but they aren't Scottish enough for her and she giggles at the thought of William Hague in a kilt. She wants prosperity, peace, jobs, and although the government won't and shouldn't do itat least it should help.
Thousands of Sallys to counterpoint thousands of Susans. The world split between those who want something and are out to get it , and those who started with a losing hand and can see no point in not going on and playing it. The wannabes meet the have-nots for the great gameshow of our time, and politicians know little or anything about it.
So afraid have Labour and their toadying chums become of the possibility that Mike Russell might just deliver a referendum for Scotland ,which will end the gravy train for Ickle Wussell, sooking at the public teat since the 1980's, that they are left desperately scrabbling around looking for anything that might delay the inevitable.
One final question for Ickle Wussel Bwown, why if you are so outraged about this 'slur' on Dumfries why did you say nothing about it for ELEVEN years?
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