I'm going to throw in my heartfelt plea to the Scots to not break up the United Kingdom this week, not that anyone will take any more notice of me than they do Bob Geldof.
It really all boils down to the fact that nobody can afford a split like this at the moment, either financially, psychologically or spiritually.
The Queen can keep Balmoral and Holyrood, it turns out. She will just turn into Elizabeth, Queen of Scots whilst she's up there, unless Scotland takes the next step and breaks away to form a Republic. Then they might end up with an 'elected' king of the S.N.P.
I have not asked my friends who own castles and villages up there what they think about it, but I daresay they might not care one way or the other. It's hardly going to affect their B & B business too much, unless they find themselves without a credible bank account - or have their property confiscated by Zimbabwean-style 'farmers'.
About forty years ago, an Englishman created an oyster farm in a loch up there, and the locals bitterly resented him for it, accusing him of stealing their natural resources and preventing them from making their own oyster farms in the same loch. The fact that they had no intention of creating an oyster farm was not the point. They mellowed a bit when he reduced the unemployment figures in the area, though, but they still haven't forgiven the Campbells.
I do wonder how they are going to channel the power from the hydro-electric plants away from Liverpool and back up to the homeland, as well. Maybe they will just sell it to them, like the English do now to the French, who then sell it back to England at a profit.
They might have to go back to the old days of teaming up with France to avoid the excise men, and drink brandy instead of their own home-brew.
If anyone should team up with France, it is Cornwall. Everything about Brittany mirrors the Cornwall of 3000 years ago, and it's only a short hop over.
Both areas are virtually ignored by their central governments, and they both share a common - if virtually dead - language.
The thing about Cornwall is that you can stay right next to someone whilst on holiday there, and your neighbour will know absolutely nothing about you, nor find anything out for a whole three weeks.
Up in the sparsely populated Highlands, people can hear you fart from 50 miles away. The talk in the bar on the evening of your fart will go something like this:
"Did you hear that English couple with the dog who are renting a caravan from the McClarens' in Crinnan for 8 nights, fart at 10.30 this morning?"
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