Toytown Tartanistas

Apparently Richard Littlejohn (sic) doesn't agree with the tone of my previous post.

I quote from the Daily Wail (with comments from me appended thus);

"Gordon Brown's yellow streak is the width of the Yangtze river

Two years ago, almost to the day, a sheep sneezed in Scotland. Twenty minutes later, Gordon Brown was on every television channel in full Commander-in-Chief mode.

He was going to be tough on sheep and tough on the causes of sheep (Gadget's got that in hand). We could sleep soundly in our beds.

The next day, it rained. Pausing only to discard his knotted hanky and off-duty Harris Tweed beach jacket, Gordon helicoptered back to London to convene an emergency meeting of Cobra in a bunker deep under Downing Street. Holidays are for wimps.

And lo, it came to pass, the flood waters subsided. Not since Moses had there been a more crucial intervention.

The BBC and the boys in the bubble went wild, hurling their knickers on stage. How lucky we were to be led by a man of such towering, Churchillian greatness.

No more lies, no more evasion, no more spin, no more stunts. Just firm, decisive action. Not Flash, just Gordon.

In those heady days of summer 2007, no crisis was too small to warrant the personal attention of the new Prime Minister.

If you'd found a spider in your bath, one phone call to Downing Street and Gordon would be there with his big clunking fist, Sky News crew in hot pursuit.

Two years on and it's a different story. The father of the nation has done his trademark disappearing act.

While the civilised (?) world recoils in disgust from the early release of the only man convicted of the worst ever terrorist atrocity on British soil, Gordon is nowhere to be found.

As Toytown Tartanistas strut the stage, the Prime Minister is hiding behind the sofa.

The man who wrote a letter of condolence after John Terry missed a penalty (Now, you really are winding me up), and found the time to ring Piers Morgan to inquire about the mental health of a contestant on a television freak show, apparently has no opinion whatsoever on the greatest single rift between Britain and the United States of America since the Boston Tea Party. (Being a tad late showing up for WW1 and WW2 might rank a wee bit higher).

His new best friend, President Obama, is spitting feathers. He has interrupted his own vacation on Martha's Vineyard to condemn this outrageous affront to justice.

But the man ultimately responsible for this humiliating debacle is remaining resolutely schtum.

We used to have a labrador who behaved like Gordon. Whenever he broke wind, he'd look away in the misguided belief that if he couldn't see you, you couldn't see him and the source of the foul smell enveloping the living room would remain a mystery.

Be in no doubt that despite his desperation to pass the buck, Gordon Brown is up to his neck in the decision to release the Lockerbie bomber.

Six weeks ago, he wrote a 'Dear Muammar' letter to the Libyan leader asking him not to make a song and dance about the homecoming of Abdelbaset Ali Mohamed Al Megrahi and wishing him a Happy Ramadan.

Gordon was perfectly well aware that the falafel was about to hit the fan. Megrahi's release had formed an integral part of every recent trade and diplomatic negotiation with Gaddafi.

Little Alex Salmond may be basking in vainglorious mischief, but the daisy chain of duplicity and deceit leads right back to Downing Street and the treacherous triumvirate of Brown, Blair and Mandelson.

Salmond is a bit-part player in this dark farce, the political equivalent of Ally MacLeod, the football manager who led Scotland to hilarious ignominy in the 1978 World Cup. (At least we were there!)

Six weeks ago, Gordon Brown wrote to Libyan leader Muammar Gaddafi asking for a low-key response to Megrahi's homecoming.

When I watched the Saltire being waved alongside the Libyan flag as Megrahi arrived back on home soil, I was reminded of the victory parade MacLeod staged in front of 25,000 delirious fans at Hampden Park before his squad had even boarded the plane to Argentina:

We're on the road with Alex's army, We're all going to Tripoli!

In the event, Scotland were stuffed by Peru, just as Salmond has been kippered by Libya, whatever he might kid himself.

The subplots swirling around this squalid affair, such as whether or not Megrahi is actually guilty, are all academic.

Of course he wasn't the mastermind, any more than the bloke who bought the rucksacks for the London Transport bombers was their Mr Big. But he was convicted in a British court of law (Wrong again - Scottish Court under Scots Law sitting in Holland) and, cancer or no cancer, letting him out after eight years is, as Mandelson would say, 'offensive' to those who died and their families.

None of this is of any consequence to the main actors in this demeaning, disgusting drama. They live in their own squalid soap opera, while the rest of us can for now only either watch with horror or avert our eyes.

In their amoral universe, there is little difference between theatrically letting Jade Goody's boyfriend out of prison for his stag night and freeing a convicted terrorist involved in the murder of 270 innocent civilians.

It's all a game to these cynics. Surely, say the sophisticates, Gordon wouldn't have gone along with this simply because he thought it would damage the SNP at the next General Election.

That's precisely why he would have gone along with it. Every decision he ever takes is predicated upon what it can do for him personally and how much damage it will inflict on his political opponents. And to hell with the consequences.

Despite the preening world statesman posturing, Gordon is as much of a petty, point-scoring, partisan pygmy as the puffed-up playground posers in the SNP. (An abundance of aimless and absurd alliteration).

His stony silence is almost eloquent, serving both to insult our intelligence and remind us of the yellow streak the width of the Yangtze which passes for his backbone.

Imagine how this looks from the American end of the kaleidoscope. They had asked for Megrahi to be tried in Scotland because they believed in British (?) justice. Now they've discovered what a sick joke modern British justice (Scots Law is ancient - muppet) really is.

And consider what our front-line soldiers, many from Scottish regiments and sent to risk their lives fighting terrorism alongside the Americans in Afghanistan, must make of this shameful decision to show 'compassion' to a man convicted of this country's worst-ever terrorist attack.

Makes you proud to be British."

Want my opinion Dick?

Hate is an inevitably unrewarding state of mind......

....and frankly the decision based purely on OUR law, and not transitory but understandable feelings, made me proud to be Scottish.

p.s.

He missed out on mentioning, during his bizarre anti everything Scottish rant, the 6th greatest goal of all time.

© Noddy
Published by Toy Town™ Times